Erik Almighty
by TheTerrierQueen
Summary: After a fatal accident, our miserable Opera Ghost is summoned to Paradise. Desperate to return, he agrees to an assignment in which he must take up the rather testing position of Guardian Angel for two precocious little girls- and not just anyone's. R&R.
1. Chapter 1: Just Heavenly

_TQ_- Welcome to my first ever-ish fic! I've been writing for as long as I can remember but I'm finally getting something up here. So in other words, bear with me.

To elaborate a little on the story here, it's more or less of a spin-off of Don Bluth's animated movie All Dogs Go To Heaven...minus the doggies. I am going to try to veer off the beaten path as much as possible, though, using just the general idea. Our continuation here is based off of no one real Phantom source, just the magical mixture of all the different re-tellings in my mind. It should be simple to follow, being a simple story. But enough of my blathering- let's get on with it.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own "The Phantom of the Opera" or any of its characters. They belong to the beautiful people who have created/enriched/immortalized the story we love so much(insert dramatic, sappy, single tear here).

Let the immortal Erik-ness begin...

------------------------

Chapter 1: Just. Heavenly.

------------------------

All of a sudden there was light. Blinding light. Light like which the creature had ever seen before. All of his life there had been nothing but darkness. Familiar, comforting darkness. But now he felt the ground move from out beneath him and that light begin to swallow him up. Something, he knew, was slipping away from him. Something very important. Or maybe he was slipping away from it. No one thinks about these things in times like this.

He was paralyzed. Only able to think, but not much else. The light pulled him on through some sort of invisible current within the blinding nothingness. It felt as if he were being torn in half, but painlessly.

Then, he landed. Hard...

"Merde!" he shouted, face down in something conveniently firm.

With shaky limbs, he pulled himself up, feeling strangely lightheaded. Something wasn't right about the frightening trip he had just taken or the equally strange scenery before his eyes. There were clouds. Clouds stretching out below and above as far as the eye could see. But they weren't the clouds customary to our world. These were...conveniently firm. A cloud, he figured, was what he was currently standing on. Other than clouds, which there were plenty of, there vast expanses of "sky" or something quite like it. This sky cast every pastel hue imaginable, like something out of a child's fairy tale book. The springy clouds cast a golden glow that shone the way nothing on earth did. The air was still, startlingly still, and there was no life anywhere that he could see. And if things couldn't get any stranger, he saw the moon below the cloud he now looked over the edge of. It was enormous and was hanging over that round thing we call the world, tilted on it's axis and looking the way the moon usually does during the day time. Very light, very faint, but very clear and real.

"What is this supposed to be, some kind of joke?" he growled, rubbing his head. His surroundings only ticked him off. This wasn't real, there's no logical reason it should be. His mind was playing tricks on him. He stared down over the edge of his cloud like a tiger plotting escape from a cage, unsure of how to go about getting out or how it got into in the first place. All he could think about was waking from this surreal delusion and returning his cellars to continue to rot and wallow in self pity.

Then rang a wholesome, cheery voice from behind his back. It was a very airy voice and overly "sugar coated" like that of a very small, very annoyingly naïve little girl that happened to sound like a grown woman. The voice sounded extremely airy and sweet natured. It was like nails on a blackboard to him.

"Welcome home Erik!" the voice cooed.

He whipped around, still scowling with frustration. The being before him was a lovely young woman, face aglow, with the blondest of hair, fairest of faces, most radiant of white gowns, and two glorious white wings tucked behind her like a cloak. A shining ring of gold floated effortlessly above her head. Anyone else would have been awestruck by those wings, so beautiful and bizarre to the eyes. But not him. Beauty was a trick of the imagination to him now. He was only greedily concerned with his own plight.

"Who are you? Where am I? Who's bright idea was this?" he growled.

With astonishing grace her wings lifted her off the ground. She fluttered to his side and began to brush the unsightly smut off his dress-coat.

She giggled, "Why this is Heaven, dear, can't you tell? Splendid isn't it? As for me, I'm Cherise, the greeting angel to all newcomers. Aren't you proud of yourself, dear? You made it!"

The gears turning in his head seemed to halt and turn to mush. Something had certainly "clicked" and was finally sinking in.

"You mean I'm-?"

"Stone cold I'm afraid."

"But...but how did I?"

"Oh, just a little accident in the lake. You know you certainly should have been much more careful, seeing as you couldn't swim. Silly affair it was."

What was this? He didn't remember falling into the lake. He couldn't remember anything.

"Beautiful!" he raged, "Just perfect! Out of all the filthy..." He continued to complain until suddenly he felt himself rising from where he stood, into midair, as an invisible force pulled him upward. Cherise followed, lilting into the air as if it were as natural to her as it would be to a bird. He grabbed out for stability, like a child learning how to swim, but found only empty space. You can imagine how strange this must be to someone experiencing true flight for the first time. Well, perhaps less flight- more float.

"Follow me please," she encouraged, slipping past him, then popping up through the cloud above.

He stabilized in midair before pushing himself upward and into the cloud, still trying to get his bearings and mumbling incoherently all the way. There was a disgruntled pout across his face, expressing his incredible distaste for the situation. On the other side of the cloud was a small platform and desk, as pastel hued as the skies all around. This was all much too "sugary" for his taste, being so accustomed to, and rather liking, much darker, gloomier surroundings. The ever-radiant Cherise was already seated at the quaint little desk at the platform, flipping through the pages of a VERY large, VERY old looking book that swallowed up the desk in size. Arms crossed and feet tucked under him, he was pushed up to the desk willessly by that same invisible current.

"Now let's see...," she murmured to herself, searching the pages.

Out of shameless curiosity he reached out to touch the leather binding of the book. It looked absolutely ancient. Without looking up, Cherise gave him a very out-of-character slap of the hand, then returned to page turning.

"Ahh, here we are. Let's have a look at your record."

"I don't think that's absolutely necessary...is it?" he insisted quite nervously.

"Just a little once over will do, then we'll-...oh my..." she gasped quietly and in the most polite way she possibly could have.

He strained to look over at what she was reading, worried, but she checked him yet again.

"My my my, aren't you a lucky one? You were originally scheduled for, well...elsewhere... but it seems as though you've received a last minute reprieve, thanks to a special request from a Monsieur Gaz... -I'm sorry- Gaston...Leroux?" she pronounced unsuredly.

"Never mind him!" he snapped, "My time's not up yet!"

"Don't be silly, now, of course it is. We never make mistakes here, you see. Quite impossible actually. Not to worry though, you'll like it here. Most everyone does. Heaven is a wonderful place!"

He growled. Her lighthearted ditziness couldn't be more any more repulsive to him. Why the only thing that was more repulsive than annoying, blissful "ignorance" was his own fa---

And that's when he realized. The mask. It was _gone._

How could he have missed its absence? More incredibly, how could Cherise have managed all this time not to even cringe at the disgusting corpse that was the right half of his accursed face?

When the realization struck him his hand shot up to his face immediately. He turned from her sharply and began to sink down in shame.

"Where is it?" he hissed, searching the surroundings rapidly with his free left eye.

Cherise lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, as one would a frightened small child. He dared not look up and only glared at her from the corner of his eye. 'That's it!' he thought, 'She's taken it! Of all the cruel, disgusting jokes...angel indeed!'

He seized her wrist viciously with his free left hand, demanding, "Where is it? What the hell have you done with my...!"

She didn't flinch. Only smiled, eyes closed trustingly, up at him in such a way that only made him even more agitated. This passive response stunned him into silence. Was she completely stupid? Heaven was no place for such a revolting sight! She gracefully gestured to a nearby indention in the cloud upon which they stood. It could not be seen into from where they were. He couldn't help wondering why. She didn't utter a word, only gently shooed him in the direction of the indention. Reluctantly, he wandered the short distance over to it, like a timid deer approaching something unfamiliar and potentially threatening. He peered over into the dip in the cloud.

And almost fainted.

The indention held a pool. Not just any pool, an unearthly reflecting pool. The water- if it was water at all- was a true mirror in fact. You could not see below its surface. Only clearly what looked into it. Who knew how deep it was? Who knew how it had come to form on a cloud? Who knew if it wasn't just an optical illusion or something of the sort? The only thing that could be certain of it was that it did indeed reflect and that it was the most incredible small pool of water he had ever seen. He looked into it.

What looked back it him was this: a stunning specimen of a middle aged man, face as symmetrically perfect as any other's. Perfect being emphasized. The man who starred back at him was undeniably handsome; flawless in complexion, godlike in structure, rich black hair smoothed over elegantly, and such eyes! Beautiful, awe-striking golden eyes, most unusually captivating. Like no other human's pair that had ever graced heaven above were those which looked back at him. It terrified him, such a trick of the mind. And yet...

He ran a hand over the right portion of his own face again. The mirror reflected. He felt smooth, uninfected flesh for the first time in his life. Well...maybe his afterlife.

Those gorgeous eyes filled with tears that he refused to let go in front of Cherise. He couldn't pull his gaze away from that pool. He felt as though he could look into it for all eternity. This was his face. This was a miracle. This was Heaven.

She drew nearer to him, still as cheerful as she had been since their first encounter.

"Not bad, hmm?" she giggled, "He wanted it to be particularly special, considering what you've been burdened with all these years. Everything is beautiful here. All are healed."

"I can't believe this." It was all he could stand to say without collapsing with joy. He fell to his knees, no longer a monster, but a real man as pleasing to the eye as they come. He seemed to hear a heavenly chorus from even higher above proclaiming his final triumph over his greatest enemy. That disgusting face that had haunted him for as long as he could remember.

Something popped up above his head, then out of his back. It was a shiny new halo and set of wings.

The chorus fell away immediately.

'How cliché' he thought morbidly, moment spoiled.

"I know they'll take some getting used to, but they're mandatory for all our angels."

"ANGELS?!?" he couldn't help shouting. From being dead he didn't think it could go any further downhill.

Why him? Of all the good, near-sinless souls that made their way up here did they choose **him** to be an angel? Cruel irony was beginning to rear its ugly head.

"Why yes! It is those who have struggled through life that make the most loyal and devoted angels. A rare honor though. He thought you may be interested in heading the department of music here."

Slapping himself in the face, at that point he seriously contemplated jumping straight off the cloud.

"That will come in its own good time. Such an honor must be earned. Presently, you've got a special assignment planned for you."

This was ridiculous. After you've had thirty minutes here they put you to work.

"What do you mean 'assignment'?"

"Oh, just a little test. To see if you've got what it takes to serve at such a high position. We don't hand out halos to every poor soul who makes it here. You must have a little something extra to offer, hmm."

There was a long break of silence. She motherly caressed the side of his face, "I know you can handle this one. Besides, we thought you might be eager to get back to earth..."

"Wait, you'll really send me back?"

"For a while of course, until your duties are complete. Feel up to it?"

He thought. Was it worth it? It sounded too good to be true. Returning might be quite nice, actually. If he accepted this "assignment" he may have a chance to make things right...and possibly, if he behaved himself perhaps, another chance at life. That's it! He would show them he was worthy of a second chance. Deserving even! With those things at stake he knew he had nothing to lose. After all, was he not dead? All was to gain. Anything to get him away from this brain-tenderizing, heavenly nothingness. Whatever the job, he was thoroughly assured it couldn't be worse than this.

"Why not?" he put simply.

Two words here were binding contracts in themselves. A paper and elegant feather pen materialized in Cherise's hand. She turned it toward him, "Sign please."

He took the pen then stared closely at the small paragraph of fine print. 'This is Heaven. How straightforward can you get? I'm probably being assigned to some poor accident prone sap until a permanent guardian can clock in' he thought quickly to himself, dismissing the idea of carefully combing the words. He signed without another thought. He was ready to go home.

"How soon will you be willing to leave?" she asked, rolling up then tucking the paper into her long sleeve.

"NOW!...um, if possible," he sunk back.

"Lovely then!" she clasped her hands joyfully, "You'll have time to settle in. Mind you, angel work takes getting used to. You'll need plenty of proper instruct-..."

"Sure, sure, of course," he interrupted, "I think I'm beginning to catch on already."

At that moment he began to levitate into the air again, unable to return himself to the cloud, and was being turned upside down against his will.

Cherise succeeded in suppressing a laugh, "Very well then...very well."

And with that, he felt himself vanish. 'Not the damn tunnel again!' was his final thought.


	2. Chapter 2: The Divine Entrance

What you read below is an example of what happens when you mix NeoOffice word processing with Starbucks, a bag of baked Cheetos and movie "The Pianist" playing in a small window beside what is being typed.

Anyway, back to our disfunctional angel...

---------------------------------------

Chapter 2: The Divine Entrance

---------------------------------------

A variety of colorful language could be heard coming from the dense brush on the roadside of Rue des Noisette. The road itself wound through the quiet, spacious estates along the edges of Versailles where city faded to quainter existence. It was here that many of the upper class made their peaceful homes, each dotting Noisette with expensive grandeur. On one side of the road there lay pasture land, mostly empty but well kept. On the opposite, a long brick wall accented with climbing ivy and the occasional stone lion's head. For a while one could amble along the wall with other side unvisible. But if you cared to follow it a ways further you would find the beautiful landscape of what certainly had to be one of the most immense properties along the Rue des Noisette.

Erik climbed-more-so fell- out of the thickets and onto the desolate road. He was shaking profusely, as if suffering from an extreme bout of hypothermia. The trip back had happened within the blink of an eye. He guessed that the actual dying itself had lengthened the first tunnel of light. Still, the journey chilled him.

Now he had no idea where he was, it was pitch black, and he had the strangest sensation that he was...transparent? There really was no way to describe it. He felt light, paper light, and even though he could hold out a gloved hand in front of him, seeing its tangible shape in the withering moonlight. But was he really _there_ in the flesh? It didn't seem that way. He knelt down to pick up a small stone at his feet. He could lift it. It was there in his grasp. But the sensation of being as see-through as pure water was still there. He attempted to levitate as he had done among Heaven's pastel clouds.

It worked. He was, without a doubt, a bonafied angel. Solid maybe, but supernatural in the highest scence of the word. The same invisible current of force came up from beneath him and lifted him a few feet from the ground. With a deep exhale of impending regret he sunk back down to firm earth.

Now what? They certainly expected a lot from him so suddenly "up there".

"A little direction would be absolutely **incredible** right now!" he shouted desperately into the sky. Nothing happened...besides the wind chill picking up.

The foliage along the road began to rustle fiercely. Dirt was whisked up wildly from the ground and blown in all directions. Erik glanced up at the open sky above the wall, the other side of the road being canopied with the boughs of trees. Clouds were gathering. And quickly. Rain was immanent.

Before he realized it, he was in the middle of an unforgiving thunder storm. When the water began to pour he snapped out of his dreamlike trance that open sky had given him, sunk deeper into his rich black cloak, and continued on down the road at a blistering walk. He felt the rain, its sting and all, as it tore at his every fiber. Weren't angels supposed to be unable to feel pain? Invincible? As far as he was concerned he was a still a human being... who just happened to be able to fly. He was dead, but felt as if he were still alive. But could it possibly be anymore inconvenient? This was all he could think of as he pushed along, having to rebel against the worst of winds.

It wouldn't be long before he would realize that, apparently, it could and would get more inconvenient.Much more.

Hoping the wall would lead to some sort of accessible shelter, our very damp and overtly agitated angel followed it. In the other direction- to the west to be precise- the wall stopped a little ways off, turning into only fenceline until that ended, marking the end of the estate land. The end of the red brick, however, could not be seen through the weather that night. If he had taken to the west he would have found himself on a long, hard stretch of road heading pel-mel for the city of Versailles. He would have taken it in fact, after seeing the glint of a sheltered street lamp a ways off in that direction. The elements, though, had other ideas. Wind and rain began to shove him the other way. Battered enough already, he decided not to fight it. What was dark to him anyway? Nothing but a familiar friend, one that once shared the majority of his sorrows at his side. He dismissed the useless beaconing of the streetlight.

Just as the ditches on either side of the Rue des Noisette began to swell, the sound of a clanging gate rang out in the darkness. Erik hurried along faster, his swift, composed walk turning into a struggling run. When he reached the origin of the sound he grabbed the gate, clung tightly to the bars and squinted to look between them. Lightning struck for the first time that night to reveal the intimidating outline of a mansion, fitting for perhaps the highest of government officials, in a split moment. That was enough to send him dashing straight for the home's sheltered doorway.

Upon reaching it, his first thought was to wring himself out quickly before chill set in. But to his surprise he found himself completely dry once out of the downpour. A miraculous act of impeccably thorough dry cleaning. Also for the first time since his return he had a moment to take in his condition...including the fact that the horrendous deformity had returned to his face. What's more, it lacked its usual covering.

"Brilliant! I walk through a bloody monsoon and this is what I get? At least give me back my dignity!" he flailed furiously at the still saturated sky. "CHERISE!"

He received a swift tap on the shoulder. Indeed it was the dainty angel who had greeted him in Heaven; she held out to him the dynamic white mask that was both his comfort and his curse. But this time she had come to him in a different form. A much smaller one. Cherise hovered like a hummingbird at eye level, now only about seven or eight inches tall. The mask was almost to big for her to carry but it seemed to give her no trouble at all.

"Apologies for the storm dear, but at least you found the place," she comforted as he replaced the mask with a grim huff.

"That's all well and good but what happened to-?"

"Your face? I do apologize for this too, but please try to understand. You see, to make things, well,_work out_ for what's been assigned to you we had to return you to near pre-death human form in order for you to be as solid as you are. You're still an angel, one-hundred percent spirit actually. We couldn't very well put you down here the same way you were in Heaven."

"And why not?" he asked simply, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms in a challenge.

"I'm going to ask that you not ask such ridiculous questions," she retorted quite sweetly. Her composure was saintly.

"Any at all or just the ones you can't answer?"

"Look, I'm only a messenger. I don't make these things happen. Neither am I all knowing and neither are you, monsieur. Now I suggest that you haul yourself inside before you begin running your mouth again and find yourself soaked to the bone the way you should be."

She disappeared.

He looked around quickly to make sure she wasn't still there.

"But... but I was _**pretty**_," he whimpered to himself, sinking back into his usual bleak level of self esteem and pity against the wall of the doorway.

'It could be worse,' he thought, 'They could have very well sent me down here with a white gown, wings and head aglow. I suppose I should go on inside...'

The door yielded to his turn of the knob, revealing the stunning foyer. Light from another bolt outside cascaded off the walls. He quickly made out the openings of the corridors and few rooms connected to this large, open area. A large vase stood atop an antique-ish mahogany table. It cast a solitary shadow straight across the middle of the floor that quite resembled a murderous looking figure. The stairway, grand and opulent, wrapped from either side of the doorway where he looked in to each side of the upstairs hallways. These hallways held doors. Numerous doors.

He paused. Was he sure he was above entering a stranger's house uninvited? Of course. With or without his annoying(and conveniently absent) guide's consent he wouldn't think twice about waltzing into such a place that would obviously provide food- rich food- for a near starving traveler like himself. So why was he thinking twice now? It was probably because of the ominous vibe the inside of that mansion sent him. Something felt odd about it. He wasn't sure he wanted to go through with this anymore. But what choice was there?

After shutting out the still raging storm, Erik wandered the foyer aimlessly wrapped in his dear companion, The Dark, until he finally took one of the two main corridors, the one to the right of the centered table and vase. Just a few more moments of aimless wandering later he found himself exactly where he wanted to be: the swinging doors that would, hopefully, lead to a kitchen. He was surprised at his own ravaging hunger. He never had much of an appetite before anyway. What had an angel to do with food? It was no matter to him now; he laid a hand against one of the doors.

But just then he heard the slamming of a door somewhere upstairs. Curiosity overcame hunger- he wanted to know exactly who lived here and what purpose he had to them, since it was clear that this was the residence of the person he was assigned to. Surely it would turn out to be some old, lonely widow who needed protection from thieves and such. She most probably wasn't expecting him- who expects these things anyway?- but he concluded that it would be advisable to make himself known at this point. Wandering around in the dark, angel or not, was rather suspicious. If he had any chance of being returned to his body and allowed a new life he would have to refrain from causing his client any distrust. He immediately abandoned the kitchen door and returned to the empty foyer.

Now to find his subject. 'They must have an impeccably awful concept of time in Heaven,' he thought. 'It's got to be the blesséd middle of the night!' It seemed a rather good time for Cherise to pop up again. But she didn't; he was left to his own devices. Erik took the left stairwell, guessing which side the door's sound may have come from. He felt assured of his sense of direction which had made itself strikingly reliable that night. Upon reaching the hall he found only a row of closed doors. They were evenly spaced out and all opened to view the open lobby on the downstairs floor from over the elegant railing on the right side of the hall. His footsteps were muffled by the only rug that lined the floor as he strained to read the plates on the doors in the darkness. He was able to make one out: "Bathroom" was hand-painted in blue script on the white ceramic plate, accented with an equally blue victorian-style flower border. A nice touch, but not in the least helpful. He continued along. As he ventured further away from the faint light-source that was the open windows in the foyer, the hallway got darker. This made the plates unreadable and he began to lose hope of finding a bedroom on this stretch. But as yet another boom of thunder rattled the mansion's foundation, an ill-fated spurt of "instinct" stopped him at the second to last door along the hallway. An all-consuming feeling, most likely divine, told him that this was the room where slept his defenseless client who had probably just returned to bed after hearing the slight disturbance he had created downstairs.

"Alright, let's get this the hell over with," he growled softly, still not thrilled with being put to task, with or without proper instruction. Could it be possible that this person was expecting him? He hoped so, though it seemed unlikely.

The door screeched open; he gritted his teeth at the sound. What an elegant entrance! To his surprise the room was unthankfully empty. From what he could see from the doorway, which wasn't much, it was a fair-sized room with a_very_ large bay window facing him from the other side. A bit of pale moonlight seeped through from outside. Rain lapped at the glass in sheets. Besides an armoire, mirror and large armchair, two twin beds were also illuminated. Their sheets and coverlets were disturbed and heaped in messy piles on each. A white rocking-chair stood between the two. The opposite side of the room was home not only the other furniture, but also a small table and more children's playthings than he had ever seen in one place before. Dolls, stuffed animals, rocking horses, pull toys...all lining the majority of the floor on the left side of the room. Not much else could be made out.

"It's a child's room," he concluded aloud, still in a gruff whisper. He wandered in, uncertain of why he was wandering in. Shameless curiosity again.

When he had reached the open window he began to mindlessly fondle the drapes, turning over his current predicament in his head. What now? He couldn't possibly be expected to meander the hallways looking for whoever he was to be serving. He was growing tired anyway. How he could physically feel pain, hunger, and fatigue he still couldn't quite grasp. He guessed that it must all be part of the basic "You're Basically Human but Not Really Alive" package he had bought with a single signature. What had possessed him to take up this obviously vague assignment in the first place? Some hapless wish to live again? And for what? What had he to live for anyway? He didn't have the guts to think of it.

The hunger crept up on him again as he stood before the window, but was once more overtaken... by an all consuming need for sleep. As rapid as a lightning flash, he felt the weight of tiredness thrust upon him. He could no longer stand nor even keep his eyes open. The effects of the storm, possibly the return trip too, had apparently sapped every ounce of strength from him. Erik stumbled over to the nearest of the two beds. This one happened to be soft and warm. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken in an untroubled sleep. And so there he lay, uncaring of his surroundings or of the storm or of consequences or of anything else for that matter. He simply, but surely, slept.

_It was the best sleep I'd had in a while... a **long** while. Though could have very well done without the nasty wake-up call._

_It was a little after daybreak when I finally awoke. I had been disturbed by movement next to me, so I naturally opened my eyes. There, only inches away from my face, two deep brown eyes stared back into mine. In that spilt second I knew they were that of a little girl who had probably been watching me for a great deal of time, leaning over my chest, awestricken. The tranquility didn't last long. She screamed, I screamed, the other child standing nearby in the corner of my eye screamed; for at least 5 minutes there was nothing in the air but ear-shattering, startled screaming that could have easily frightened the pigeons in Rome. This gave me such a scare that I flung myself away from the girl, off the bed and onto the floor, bringing down sheets, pillows and all with me. They continued their high-pitched wails while I was, for a moment, nearly unconscious- fell on my head, as usual- on the floor beside the bed. That's they started heaving things, still screaming, mind you. Lamps, dolls, pillows, books, little ceramic figurines that conveniently hurt like hell... whatever they could get their hands on they threw at me. They had good aim, I'll give the devils that. The two hid on the opposite side of the bed which acted as a barricade from which they could hurl things from, protected. I had no time to complain of how ridiculous it was being a spirit who could be physically bombarded with earthly objects, no matter how much I was compelled to. Covering my head, I crawled around the edge of the bed, praying not to be seen. They continued to aim at the spot I had fallen to. I could hear the shattering of ceramic and the splintering of wood as a decorative china plate and small wooden rocking horse met their demise in unison against the hardwood floor behind me. More china plates flew after that. I stopped at the corner of the bed when I heard the bigger one who had woken me, "Maybe he's dead. Go check and see Lyssie."_

"_No!" the small one protested. I knew they were atop the bed now. I was still unseen at its front, feeling quite ashamed of myself for hiding from a pair of little girls. I still dared not to move._

"_Fine then! I will." _

_I felt the mattress bending over me as the older child leaned like a stalking leopard overhead. I had no time to think before I was beaten over the head with some kind of mid-sized rod. Where were they getting these things? They sounded their war-cries..."MAMAN! MAMAN!"_

_She had a go at me with the rod a second time. That's when I snapped._

"_**What on earth is ****wrong**** with you?!**" I shouted over them, finally standing like I should have done quite a long while before and snatched the rod away from the terrified little brunette who had so graciously welcomed me. The other, a considerably smaller child with watery blue eyes and wispy blonde hair, hid behind her atop the bed, equally scared out of her wits. I now towered over them both. I can imagine the fear a strange man with a mask and a raised metal pole could instill in two small girls. They trembled, completely at my mercy._

"_Look here you little cretins!---" I roared, pointing threateningly at the older. I now held the upper hand. A liquid rage that I had experienced many a time before in the flesh began to course through me, as if I still had veins for it to course through. I was the dominant. I could dispatch both of them in an instant. One blow. It would only take an instant..._

_It was then that I felt a cold stabbing sensation. A sword being forced into me, a sword of ice it must have been. I had never endured such an instant of pain and regret in my entire life. It was as if I was being punished for even thinking of doing such a terrible thing. This feeling surprised me; I dropped the rod, disgusted with myself._

_The two assailants looked back at me. It was obvious that they were frightened beyond possible speech. The blonde one's eyes were on the verge of tears. There was no doubt she would have broken out crying right there in front of me if she wasn't so terrified. The other one's mouth hung agape, eyes fixated on my face- no doubt why- like enormous saucers. I had only seen someone look so entranced with horror...only once before..._

_**That** was what paralyzed me._

_It wasn't long before the throbbing in my head was matched by another noise. Hurried footsteps. The hall resonated with them. I heard a voice too, as frantic as the steps, its words indistinguishable. A very, very worried voice. Still I couldn't move, neither could the girls. They breathed heavily, heavier than I did, for all of my fear and tension was expelled in my mind, which pains worse than the fierce overworking of the lungs. I felt the urge to hide. Whatever was coming was not in my best interest. I was the prey again. But this time, there was no escaping. I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. _

_All fell silent as the door was wrenched open. And I nearly fainted-truly fainted- at what I saw._


	3. Chapter 3: Karma

--------------------

Chapter 3: Karma

--------------------

And there she was. All of her.

Was it a trick of the mind? A delusion brought upon by foolish hope, lust and quite possibly that rod upside the head? No. It was _**her**_.

As certain as the Paris streets were filthy- it was Christine.

Time slowed before his eyes, turning seconds into glorious little eternities. The doorway widened further to reveal her still goddess-like figure, rich dark hair spilling over that ever-elegant neck and shoulders, those flawless legs, those tiny, perfect feet. She wore a plain white gown trimmed with lace, but it so accentuated her that he thought it would easily melt him to the very core.

He would have first caught a glimpse of her worried but still stunningly beautiful eyes if he hadn't been looking, well...further down at the time.

Words fought desperately to escape him, but the only sound that forced its way from his slackened jaw was a breathless gasp. It had been years, many long, unforgiving years, heretofore since she had graced him with her presence. But he thought nothing of them in that instant. Nothing of what had been, only what was now.

"What's going on in here?!" she demanded, trembling with concern. He fell to his knees having heard that angelic voice after all those dead, worthless years of being without it. His anguish fell away- as did the rest of the world- in that moment of splendor. They were together again. He was consumed with only one thought: nothing would take her him now, this was all just too wonderful to end. Mercy, he was sure, had finally found him.

She did not budge an inch from the doorway. She seemed to be waiting for the answer she sought. The two girls bolted from the bed the second they saw her. They met her with fear filled lament as she knelt to embrace them. Pushing their faces into her for security, the children began to incoherently rattle off about what had just happened. Christine held them closer, soothing them with soft reassurances. This sedated them within a matter of seconds.

"Shhhhh, calm now," she hushed, "There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm sure it was just a dream."

The older child whipped around in her grasp. Erik was still there, kneeling with mind-numbed ecstasy, in the middle of the room, the most ridiculous expression across his face. Ridiculous or not, at the sight of him she rapidly returned to the comfort of Christine's bosom, almost knocking her over with horrified force. She kept her eyes down at them, oblivious to the rest of the room.

"Oh mama! He's still there...he's still there! Can't you see!" she wailed, sending her more timid accomplice into a bout of uncontrollable bawling.

Like a candle fire in a gale-force wind, something in our angel's mind was completely flitted out.

'Mama? Oh**dear God**no.'

The thought resonated through him. So much for mercy. He rose to his feet slowly; devastated, defeated, shamed once again. There was only one thing left to hope: that this all wasn't what it seemed.

With one hand on the foot of the bed for support he was able to stand. Erik clutched the lush fabric clothing his chest and finally said what he had longed to for a terribly long time.

"Chr...Christine?"

She tore her eyes away from the girls to look up suddenly, still holding them in her embrace. One again all his previous notions slipped away. Perhaps he had been mistaken. He prayed he had been mistaken. She had recognized him. Fleeting joyous thoughts raced through his mind. She would forgive him. She would take him back. She would confess...

The two girls let go of her as she stood but still hid safely behind her gown. They were sure she would protect them and so they stayed to see what would become of the trespasser, drawn in with feeble curiosity. It was when she stood to full hight that he was certain their eyes met. He was close to the point of weeping as some divine chorus sang of his triumph high above. His heart swelled as she finally returned his deep, passionate gaze. He waited for her words, for her to take him in her arms and never let him go again. He waited...

"Oh, look at this mess!" she gasped breathily, wrinkling her nose and placing her dainty hands on her hips.

The chorus died away. The entire mansion might as well have fallen down on him in that very instant. At least that was what he wished. She hadn't looked at him at all! He realized now that her imagined gaze had been nothing but a cold, empty stare. Something wasn't right, in fact absolutely disturbing, about the way her eyes had passed straight through him to the piles of debris behind.

"She can't see you dearie," a sympathetic voice met his ear.

Perched upon his shoulder once again was the miniscule Cherise. He did not acknowledge her presence at first, only watched Christine blankly and heartsunkenly as she stepped through the damages, no doubt checking for the mysterious "him" the girls had indicated to.

"What do you mean she can't see me?" he laughed, almost dementedly, as what had been his very world walked past him without a word or even a glance. He was slowly losing his mind.

"I mean just that: she can't see you," repeated Cherise.

"But that's impossible," he insisted blatantly, sounding an awful lot like a dead person would sound if one were to speak. Something in him had died in fact. No amount of anything could bring whatever it was back to life. Of this at that very moment he was the most sure.

Christine turned again to the girls huddled in the doorway. But their eyes were dead focused on him, even more perplexed and silently panic-stricken than ever before. How could this be? He stood right there in front of her. In front of them still. They could hear his heavy, deep-chested breathing from where they stood. The ominous stranger was right there, not two feet away from her. But still she could not see.

"There had better be a descent explanation for this, ladies," Christine spoke sternly, tapping a lovely bare foot against the floor.

It was the older child that spoke, "But he's still there! Right next to you! Against the bed! Can't you see him?"

"See who?"

The child went into absolute hysterics, "That man, right in front of you! He was sleeping in my bed when we came back! He tried to hit us with that rod...oh Mama get away from there...don't you see! He has a mask on! He'll get you! Oh, do get away from there! Mama_**please**_!"

Erik was speechless. Motionless. Breathless. There was no mistaking anything now. He wasn't stupid enough to continue lying to himself.

"Well I don't see a thing Soisette. You should know better than to... - wait. He has a _**what**_?" she asked, voice dropping from disciplinary to tremblingly overwrought.

"A mask. A white mask mama. It's terrible. He's right...there," replied the child so meekly that she could hardly be heard.

Christine's face turned as white as pure ivory. She shook a little, just ever so slightly, in the hands. Her eyes darted once or twice around the massacred room. Her lower lip quivered a little as if something were welling in her throat. A feverish sweat began to roll down the back of his neck. Erik still balanced against the bed in plain sight of anyone who could have had the ability to see him at all.

Then Christine straightened up, cleared her throat and briskly returned to the doorway. If she had been possessed with fear a moment earlier she certainly didn't show it now. The children looked up at her without a word. Her eyes were stern; her expression most serious.

"I _will _be speaking to your father about this. You both know better than to throw things in the house," she said with a motherly air, "Without a housekeeper I suppose I'll have to clean this up myself. You're to stay in here until I tell you otherwise. Both of you. Do you understand me?"

They nodded dutifully.

Christine touched a delicate hand to the younger child's face and warned them softly, "Do stay away from the glass, girls... and enough of this foolishness. I promise you..._I swear_...there's no one here but us."

"Yes maman."

And then she was gone.

"Well, here you have it, love. This is your assignment. This is what you're here for," Cherise told him brightly, gesturing to the two defenseless children still staring him down from the doorway where their mother had left them.

It was all he could do not to scream at the top of his lungs for a second time that morning. He gave the impression that he would any moment.

"These are your subjects; you're going to be their very own guardian angel. Isn't it lovely? Precious little things aren't they?" she coddled, clasping her hands together in gushing bliss. He had never been more thoroughly revolted in his life. If there was anything he hated more than babbling, idiotic fluff it was children.

"You're kidding me."

"Of course not! Why would I be-... is something the matter?"

"Oh nothing's the matter. Nothing at all...," he gritted, "...besides the fact you _**SET ME UP**_, you mendacious little who-...!"

She cut him off briskly, "Hush you brute! You're the one signed yourself in for this, not me. Now don't you think you've frightened the lambs enough for one day without going off like a raving idiot. Gracious! Where are your manners?!"

"At the bottom of that damned lake with the rest of me," he sneered, shortly before receiving a sharp, swift kick in the shoulder by one of Cherise's tiny but painful pointed shoes. She flitted up and out of his reach while he seethed.

"You **KNEW**! And don't you _dare_ tell me you didn't! You expect me to believe this is...is, is, is some kind of a freak coincidence?! Is this _it_? I'm supposed to play wet nurse to a couple of wild little miscreants? And for _**WHO **_of all people?! Don't you even _dare_ tell me I haven't been set up!" Erik spat.

He continued to rant wildly at her until he felt the shortest of tugs at his cloak. Glancing down, he found the bright, round face of the older child staring up at him.

"Excuse me monsieur, but who are you talking to monsieur?" she asked him boldly. An innocent light glinted in her young eyes, along with another indistinguishable spark of a different kind. He couldn't place a finger on what though. Why wasn't she cowering in fear the way she had moments before? The other was still silent, still unsure, hiding once again behind the older girl. The child who had addressed him now was no more frightened of him than a lion would be of a toy poodle.

At first he hesitated, wishing them both far out of his sight.

"None of your business," he growled, turning from the child to scowl at Cherise again.

"Oh really?" she stomped the ground in a pout. "Well maybe you're just crazy!"

"You know what? You're probably right," said Erik, swatting the air in retaliation against the springy little angel.

Cherise giggled teasingly at his annoyance, "I think you can take it from here."

Gone again.

He had hardly the time to protest before receiving another swift tug at his cloak- this time much harsher with persistence.

"_**Excuse**__ me!_" the girl stamped again, her confidence growing. To her he was no longer a threat. Her mother hadn't seen him...at all. 'He mustn't be real then' she concluded to herself with the innocent conciseness so unique to children. Besides, he was talking to the air for some unapparent reason. What could be less threatening?

"What?!" Erik demanded, returning all agitated attention to her.

"Why are you in our house?"

How was one able get to the point so quickly? Were all children this irritatingly straightforward? He thought before speaking in the most professional tone he could muster, "Well...ehm...you see I was sent here on a bit of an assignment and..."

"From who? For what?" piped the little blonde at last, peeking out from behind the other. Her voice was tiny and sweet with tone that met the ears like a kiss. But this had no effect on his hardened heart. She was just another source of bother.

"I was getting to that," Erik's eye twitched ever so slightly. He cleared his throat regally before making his triumphant introduction.

"I was _apparently_ sent here to be your...ahem...guardian angel from well...you know...where angels come from..." he indicated upward, uneasily.

He received only blank stares in return from the children. Blank "you're undoubtedly insane" stares to be precise.

"But I'm aware there's really no need for my assistance, seeing as you seem to be **very** well tended to..." he muttered.

"Angel?" the older girl, disregarding his quiet remark, gave the smaller an unsure glance, "but there's no such thing!"

"What ignorant half-wit told you that?" said Erik quite crossly.

"Our mother," replied the two in unison- so much so that it was rather frightening.

He silently took back his words. 'Of course' he thought, glancing around aimlessly. He thought of their mother and silently wished them to throw something else- something large and loud enough to beckon her return. But he was invisible as far as Christine was concerned. She wouldn't see him if she wanted to. And why on earth, with two small children and God knows what else of a life, would she want to see _him_ anyway? The thought stung him. He was invisible. Invisible to everything that mattered. Only truly there to the little pests interrogating him. He had enough of all this questioning already. But one question still burned in his mind.

"I see," he sighed. Then with a most fluidous flick of one of his hands he began to levitate again, trying to look as much as if he knew what he were doing as possible. He struggled to stay vertical in midair while the girls stared up in awe. When he felt himself stable, at most two feet above the ground, he crossed his arms and cocked a wise eyebrow. This was all the explanation he needed and he intended to explain it proudly.

A smile crept across both girls' faces at precisely the same time. This stranger _must_ be an angel, they thought. How else would their mother not have seen him? This, to them, perfectly explained why she never believed in them. She could never see them herself! And there he was, hovering effortlessly before them. They marveled at him in childish ecstacy. Other girls had ponies and dolls- but how many had an angel, a real, tangible angel, to play with? They were overjoyed. Thoroughly.

"Oh how lovely!" the younger clapped her hands before Erik returned to the floor in a most indecorous manner. Flipping over almost completely, just inches away from the ground, he then landed against the the hardwood chest first, heels over head.

"Indeed," he grunted painfully. The two girls- who had not long since been violently hurling objects at him-helped Erik to his feet with what little strength they could contribute. But it was an endearing thought, even he had to admit, as much as he hated to. And he **really** hated to.

As he smoothed out the elegant lapels of his dress-coat he overheard the older child whisper, "What shall we call him Lyssie?"

"I like _Alphonzo," _the little blonde chortled well within hearing range.

"It just so happens," he bellowed, "that I already have a name."

"Which would be...?" questioned the older child impertinently.

"Erik, Highest Angel of the Lord's Good Order," he lied, smug and conceited, head held high like a check-reined carriage horse.

"And you'll be staying?!" they pinned, crowding him with girlish eyes glittering and flitting with hopeful reverie.

Erik glanced about nervously again for any sign of Cherise. The vexing little parasite was nowhere to be found. He reached around himself to rub his aching neck with an apical wince.

"Christ! Now what do you need me here for? You've got a mother here, and-...a father, I presume..." He had unintentionally expressed what he had longed to know since he first found he was in Christine's own house. His hands wrung against his better control.

The dark haired child looked down at her feet and hesitantly explained, "Yes...they'll be leaving in the morning. England, that's where they're going... that's farther away than the gardens at the Bois isn't it? We've been there...to the Bois...it was lovely, but it was far. Does it take much longer to get to England?"

"Yes," Erik confirmed, repositioning his mask compulsively, "Yes, it does take quite a while longer."

So that was it. These people- oh, such conveniently familiar _people_-needed his childcare services. He had no idea Heaven catered to such things. This was strange. They seemed to be living comfortably enough to afford a nanny...or a whole legion of them. The entire situation was so cursedly ridiculous that he couldn't believe it was actually happening. For all he knew he could be in one of his many terrible dreams. He laughed to himself. No, life was never **that** forgiving.

"What's the mask for?"

The older child shattered his sequence of thought.

"None of your business," he sneered down at her, eyes aflame with the utmost stringency. This did not satisfy her at all. She had no intention of reading his implied warning.

"Well it **MUST** be for something..."

"It's not," said Erik through bared teeth, "That bow in your hair, it's not for anything is it? Only a decoration. Nevermind the mask- I _highly_ recommend not mentioning it further."

The blonde child straightened out her mussed nightgown while her headstrong counterpart pouted, "Well I don't like it! It scares me."

"I'll be sure to let you know when I start to care, child," he replied.

The girl let out a whine that sounded quite like a zebra with a terrible belly ache, "What sort of angel wear's a mask?"

Erik was indignant. "This sort," he retorted sharply.

"Fine..." she grumbled, "but you can only wear it if you promise to let us jump on the beds when mama and papa are gone."

"And let us play on the piano! And have some of the chocolates in the parlor!" the other chimed.

Truth be told, he would have promised them the entire European empire to shut them up. Or to at least have them forget the mask...at least for a while. But why should he stay at all? 'Oh that's right,' he thought bleakly to himself, 'I signed that blasted contract. I'm trapped here with these intrusive little rats...I'm as good as their slave. Wonderful slice of work there, Erik. You've done it now.'

He massaged his temples, stress baring down unmercifully. The older child now had his dress-coat by its fine-tailored end. She swung the material side to side as the two waited eagerly for a response.

"Enough!" he shouted. The older girl stopped the swaying but continued to wring the cloth in her tiny hands. The other shrunk back in avoidance to his glance. Compliance, he found, was exceedingly difficult to obtain from these children, much less unbroken attention.

"I _suppose_ I have no choice in the matter. This was where they dropped me... but suppose there's been a mistake. Surely you can't have me believe there's no caretaker for you already in place."

It was the younger who answered, eyes still not meeting his, "We did have a housekeeper. But she left."

"So they expect you both to stay here by yourselves?" asked Erik, hardly interested.

"Mama will probably get Madame Mourmond to look after us. She's not very nice. She's so old she can hardly move. She walks just like the fat men do in Paris, like they have a rod stuck up their...well, you know. All she ever talks about is her husband in some war and a bunch of other grown-up rot. She **never** lets us do **anything**. It's terribly boring around here when the Mourmond comes to stay with us. I think she's Papa's aunt or something..."

"Oh what a heartbreaking story," his voice seeped with sarcasm, "but I do think I shall have to pass on staying. Terribly sorry children. Seeing as you've already got someone to watch your precious little selves, as much as I'd love to I'm afraid I'd be cheating my duties to stay here where I could be making myself useful elsewhere. No need for an angel's work here. Do pardon the trouble I've caused, ladies, I won't be a bother much longer."

"But you can't go!" they cried, latching onto him like leeches.

"Mama wouldn't mind you here at all, not at all! Oh please do say you stay! We'll be so lonely without you! No fun at all!" insisted the older child, dark curls bouncing as she shook her head madly with protest. Why the hell were these two under the impression that he was any sort of _fun_. The idea was revolting.

"Off of me! Off of me at once!" he ordered, but it was without use. They had firmly attached themselves to his ankles. He would have to pry them off to escape this wretched house. Pry them off kicking and screaming...or perhaps...

He lifted himself above the ground again, forcing all his weight up while they still clung like dangling fish from his feet.

"Please please please please!" they wailed, now hanging a foot above the ground with no intention of letting go. He struggled to rise higher but their combined weight made it absolutely impossible. He considered shaking them off but something in the back of his mind thought better of it. It wasn't long before he felt himself sinking.

All of a sudden, his supernatural, gravity-defeating force gave way completely. All three plunged to the floor in a heap. Erik stared up at the ceiling, flat on his back, and gave a disgruntled moan. The children still clung, as persistent as ever.

"Alright, I'm staying! God-have-mercy-on-your-souls, **I'M****STAYING**! Now off with you both before I do more than change my mind! What in the hell am I supposed to do with you people?! Let me up!" he finally surrendered.

The children were ecstatic. They immediately let him free before starting into a bouncing frenzy like that of over-exuberant puppies. Grabbing each other's hands, they spun in hyperactive circles around the room, kicking up broken furniture as they giggled wildly.

"Stop that I say!" he demanded, trying desperately to sound as stern and overbearing as humanly(or angel-ly) possible.

The two bounced at his. The older child took up one of his gloved hands in one of her own and shook it professionally- as if imitating an adult's business transaction.

"Soisette Annabella de Chagny, Monsieur Erik. **Exceptionally** pleased to meet you," she managed to articulate.

"And I'm Elyssa," the little blonde whispered, tugging daintily on his other hand. "She's six. I'm five. And I don't think your mask is scary at all. It's very... _swee generees_," she mispronounced sweetly, trying to sound more intelligent than her sister.

Erik would never admit it, never out loud, but he laughed whole-heartedly in his mind.

"Charmed," he said irritatedly, repositioning the mask once again. "Charmed."


	4. Chapter 4: Petites Faveurs

---------------------------

**Chapter 4: Petites Faveurs**

---------------------------

_Yes, my devoted, I gave in. The little monsters had me by the nape. Nothing would shake them. I was the plaything too monumentally precious to give up- too monumentally stupid to fight back. And what did I know about children anyway? Goodness knows-if there was any goodness back then- that was one thing I knew I could always live without. Despite past...intentions... I had never thought I'd have the distasteful pleasure of dealing with them. If I stayed that would mean they would have their run of me. It wasn't that I didn't want to leave(which was quite the understatement of the century), it was that I wasn't sure if such a thing was plausible. I was at a post. Under a pact with, well...my maker. I had no intention nor did I feel that it was especially wise to swindle Him. I had wormed my way out of many a tight spot during my lifetime. Most of it was accomplished by killing, exploiting, chiseling, gambling, but they had gotten me out nonetheless(but perhaps not always what I **wanted**.That, my devoted, is another story). But this... I had no idea what to do with **this**. I was dealing with my beloved's own flesh and blood. If was to overcome that deadly impulse I would be forced to yield to them. I snap like a twig you know. Well, I did then at least. Perhaps it was that glimmer of a potential new life that kept me going. Did I still want it? I could no longer deny that I did. It's human nature, no matter how inhuman one may seem to be. Not many have experienced such a desire, mind you. When was the last time you wished for life when you didn't already have it? I rest my case. I had trapped myself there with my own foolish wishing to blame. I would have to tough it out. So could things have gotten any worse? Let us just say if they hadn't I wouldn't have much of a story left to tell you. _

_Soisette attempted to pull me along like a dog. "You simply must see the house! And the gardens! And the stables! And the fountain!" she bounced, urging me out of the room._

_I didn't budge. I was still trying to recover from my fatal decision._

"_Come along now Erik! How can you be our nanny if you don't know the house?" she laughed. I could hear Elyssa's uncontrollable giggling from behind. _

"_If I'm supposed to be your nanny then you won't be the one ordering me around, now will you? And didn't Christine specifically tell you both not to leave this-..."_

_It was too late. I'd let it slip; they caught it right off._

"_How do you know mama's name?" asked Soisette, ceasing her pulling for a moment._

_I cleared my throat to buy a little time before replying most unconvincingly, "Err...magical...angel...powers?"_

_There was a silence as long and awkward as you could ever imagine. _

"_Oh I see!" Soisette broke out finally, "You have to know everybody's name so you can find people."_

"_Certainly...certainly," I assured. Was this some kind of interrogation?_

_After my little slip of mind they completely dismissed my shaky excuse and continued to pester me into a tour. I was so relieved that I immediately agreed to let them show me around so as not to cause more friction than I already had. Besides, what harm would it be to familiarize myself with the place. After all, did Christine not live here? I was sure it wouldn't be a problem for them to leave the room if they had a suitable escort. And who could be more suitable than a guardian angel?_

_They swung me through the upstairs halls at a breakneck pace, cackling all the way. Soisette jarred doors open as we went along. Bedrooms. Bathrooms. Empty rooms. Both had their own playroom. Each looked like a palace filled with everything a child could ever dream of possessing. I tried my best to look inthralled as Soisette boasted of her porcelain doll collection of fourteen in counting. She pointed at each on their series of shelves as she went along naming them. The rest of her toys lay scattered in careless dissaray. No one expected such a perfect child to pick anything up around here apparently. Her playroom was accented with pinks and golds and crown molding so opulent that they could have very well put the dressing rooms in the opera house to shame. An enormous portrait of her hung on the opposite wall. I had never seen someone so spoiled. One couldn't help but wonder if she wasn't a diva in training._

_Elyssa's playroom was the last on the hall. This one was a little more modest and a world better kept. All of her things were in their designated places, perfectly aligned on shelves and along the walls. Rich purples and golds gave it an almost royal feel; framed sketchings of various musical instruments dotted the walls. A lovely touch if I do say so myself. The daybed in the corner basked lazily in the young morning light wafting in from the two windows. A blissful couple of songbirds peered in at us from one of the panes. The tiny toy piano in the opposite corner caught my eye as Soisette began to pull me back toward the hall._

"_Do you play?" I asked half-mindedly._

_Elyssa, I could see, was staring at it too. "A...a little...I...I mean no," she turned away to look to the floor at once._

_Soisette interrupted. "Let's go!" she whined. I wanted to backhand her. 'God, what an obnoxious little brat' I thought, though heeding to her force._

_We hurried along the hall and down the stairs. In the open foyer again I caught the sensation that I was out in the open. I was vulnerable to be seen. My eyes darted nervously. Was I positively sure no one could see me but these children? Could I afford to alarm anyone? And in broad daylight? There was one I knew for certain that I had no wish to confront, whether he could see me or not. I hoped- no, **prayed**- to be spared that particular meeting._

_Such were my thoughts as I was dragged down one of the corridors to be introduced to various cleaning closets, parlors, drawing rooms and even an elaborate dance hall kept hushed behind one of the seemingly countless doors. I had no time to admire the decadence that was this luxurious hall, though it did seem a bit dusty, as we continued to dart from room to room._

_Finally we came upon the kitchen. It was then that I felt I could have easily eaten anything anyone would have put in front of me. I asked if I could be troubled for a little something. Neither replied. They only shooed me in as if I were deaf._

_And what a kitchen it was! Obscenely large with endless storage that no doubt held enough to subdue the French appetite. An elaborate wine rack topped an equally various spice rack that could encompassed every spice that ever existed. Herbs grew in cozy little pots atop the counter which was also occupied by many other containers and trappings customary of the usual upper-class kitchen. A gas stove, one of the newest and more generous looking models, reigned its space near the far wall and a roomy preparation table stood boldly in the middle of the room, over which hung a shining array of bronze pots and pans and the like. I admired the bowl of exotic fruit that beckoned from the countertop nearest me. The smell of warm pastry was unmistakable. I had to keep myself from drooling like a dog after a bone. Brioche aux Sucre. Two dozens of them waiting in a blue china dish on the table. Sparkling with thousands of tiny diamonds of sugar. Fresh. The girls ogled the plate full of paradise with the same white-hot intensity as I did. The poor pastries wouldn't last long._

"_May we?" asked Elyssa, "You're in charge, right?"_

"_Oh...we may," I replied before scarfing two down at the same time._

_Soisette dove into them as savagely as I did. She climbed atop the table and joined me in wolfing down handfuls all at once. Little Elyssa took a less greedy approach. She fetched a cloth napkin from its place in the cupboard, folded it neatly, then was content to take two at a time for herself. The child fussed every time she found her fingers to be sticky._

_Moments later only crumbs remained. I leaned, stuffed, against the table, content as cat. It had been ages since I had tasted anything that sinfully good. Soisette dusted the remaining sugar from her dress in her sister's direction. Elyssa let out a high pitched cry and began to cry over her clothes again. Soisette laughed like a teasing demon and licked the sugar from her hands as her sister struggled to keep herself clean. _

"_Ladies...ladies!" I demanded their attention._

"_Yes Erik," they answered sweetly, turning from their previous business._

"_I'm going to ask that you not mention my being here to your mother...or, ehm, anyone else. You see, no one is supposed to know I'm here which explains why no one can see me but the two of you. My business here has nothing to do with anyone but you so it would be best not to make an ordeal out of my presence, if you will."_

"_Yes monsieur," nodded Soisette. "**Now** can we go see the stables?"_

"_I don't see why not," I sighed, once again to be tugged along, this time out the back door of the kitchen. I hoped that what I had told them would sink in. Eventually._

_We followed a path that led to a moderately sized stable. Twelve stalls lined the outside of the customary open courtyard. I sunk into the covered area nearer to them as the cloud that had been covering the scorching sun drifted from its place. Sun was not a thing I was particularly used to or fond of for that matter._

"_Come and see my pony!"_

"_No, come see mine!"_

_They urged me along the row, fighting for the right to introduce their own little riding nags first. The fellow kept in the third stall I coveted as I was dragged along. It was a stallion, blacker and sleeker than any I had ever seen before. He was turned to the side in his roomy stall and from the opening one could see them-self in the luster of his coat. I resisted the children for a moment to study him. Upon noticing me he turned to stare from the door. What a magnificent animal!_

"_Keep away from The Count," warned Soisette, still annoyed with me, "he has a nasty temper. Papa can hardly even ride him."_

_The horse pawed wildly. I held out a hand, not expecting the worst out of him. I only expected the worst out of people; animals are so thankfully different. The sisters gasped as they watched him fill my still gloved hand with his muzzle, as gently as a newborn foal. He didn't make a sound or a movement as I stroked between his expressive eyes. I do so love horses. I love their eyes. They have such romantic eyes, like no other creature's alive._

_But wait. The creature could see me- how could that be? The other horses acknowledged my presence as well. I had attracted them to the windows of their stalls like a magnet. Reds, bays, grays- all poking out their lengthy heads to watch me carefully. They made not a sound, not the tiniest flinch or flick as horses so customarily do. They looked to be almost hypnotized, transfixed on me to the point that it was almost disturbing. It was then that I realized that animals must have some natural insight, some inborn gift to see the unseen as people cannot. Animals- I thought- could see angels._

"_Nonsense," I finally responded to the child with a reprimanding glare, "There is absolutely nothing wrong with this animal." What did the pompous rich and their snotty offspring know about horses anyway? They certainly knew how to keep them sparklingly clean in cramped quarters for all their lives so that they could drive them with their expensive carts to their preposterous parties and whatever else they do with their money. I had never felt so much sympathy for the creatures. What I had always felt, though, was that fiery disgust with the upper class. Was the child any exception? Would Christine be any exception now?_

"_Well you try to ride him then! He's thrown every one of papa's grooms since we've had him."_

"_I should like to," I said coarsely, leaving the stallion to continue our walk along the stalls._

_I then had the distasteful pleasure of finally meeting O'Riley and M. Truffles. The girls' two little white geldings stood with withers no higher than my waist. But they were as sour as ponies could be with their cocky nickers and flaring nostrils, warnings not to come closer. They wanted nothing to do with me from their miniature stalls as the two children gushed over them. It seemed to me that the ponies were as spoiled were as spoiled as they were._

"_Monsieur Truffles can jump two fences in a row," boasted Soisette, shoving a finger in the animal's face from where she hung on the stall door. His ears tucked back. "You want to know how much we paid for him?"_

_I could conceal my irritation no longer. "I'm sure I don't care," I replied coldly. She had gotten my message . We left the stables without another word, Soisette immensely sore with me. Only Elyssa held onto me now with all the meekness her sister lacked. _

_The outside of the mansion was as impressive as the inside. I hadn't gotten a good chance to see it before, why with rain and darkness cloaking it. It's stone exterior seemed almost like shining marble. An enormous terrace jutted out from the wall we faced. It ate up the space from the majority of the wall but it was very tall, very well kept and peacefully beautiful. Beneath it rested pots of every shape and size, some filled with shade-worshipping plants, others leaning on their sides, that surrounded an inviting little white garden chair which matched perfectly the color of the terrace's wood. A small white marble bath- most probably for decoration rather than for birds-was filled with funny colored beads and even funnier tinted water. Was it blue? Was it green? What was the point? From the roof of the terrace spilled over an incredible jumble of vined vegetation. Some of the plants burst forth with vibrant flowers in the very peak of their season. This mass of foliage and blooms made up the structure's roof. Everything was bejeweled in glistening beads of water from the past night's rain. All around us all was damp and warm, life springing up from every which way. Never had I known anything like this. Never was the kiss of sunlight so cradling or sweet. Never had a felt such a strong aversion from leaving that light behind. From letting it go again._

_We ducked under the terrace and into the house. This time we found ourselves in a quaint parlor- nothing special. A small table in the middle, some other furniture, gaudy looking ceramic figures of whoknowswhats, a picture on the walls here and there. It opened up to one of the corridors which looked across to the foyer. The walking became monotonous, as it is probably becoming monotonous to read about._

_But we didn't wander much further from the grand house's lobby this time. Our touring stopped at the edge of a doorway left widely ajar at the very front corner of the foyer. The door was a good deal larger than the others on the row. It opened up to what seemed to be an office lined with books. The walls inside were a deep green and the edge of a desk and a couple of professional chairs could be made out from where we stood. We did not venture in, not even the children dared to stand in the open doorway, as voices could be heard inside. A heavy set fellow entered the side of the room that could be seen finally. He strutted to the front window as he continued to ramble on. He spoke of some sort of agreement to be struck with the man who stood out of my line of vision with a voice so coarse and gruff that it resembled the sound of a chaise's wheels being rolled over gravel._

"_Come now old boy," he laughed, "All I ask is for enough of an investment to be made to purchase the building. I don't want your fortune, only your help."_

_The other spoke with a much more forgiving tone, "As I've said, I don't feel it to be the proper time. You know I trust you but what **I** ask is that you be more patient with this. I didn't mean to suggest that I was willing to agree on the investment before our leave for the conference. Andoir, for God's sake give it time!"_

"_But surely you can't expect this sort of thing to wait, can you? The period on the offer expires in less than two months."_

"_We'll be returning in precisely five weeks. There should be plenty of time-"_

_The man who had been called Andoir cut him off with a hint of hostility, "And if it should be purchased before your return?"_

"_I'm afraid nothing can be done about that," his "client" shot back. It was obvious that he was becoming annoyed with this pestering. I didn't blame him for it. _

_Soisette gave a tug at my sleeve as I watched the man who had been hidden behind the door came into our line of vision to join Andoir at the window. _

_I didn't notice what they were saying. The only thing I noticed when the unintroduced fellow turned to face the opposite direction of the other was that he was no stranger. The handful of years had had their little ways with it but I never forget a face. Lord, especially not that one. Everything I had once despised, feared and regretted was culminated in that revoltingly perfect face._

_I won't question your intelligence, my devoted. You know very well of whom I speak; there's no need to waste precious time. The name's not all that pleasant anyway._

_Soisette pulled me down to her level. All three of us were on our knees. I must have looked excruciatingly ridiculous, eavesdropping behind a door with two small children. But then I remembered- as far as I knew- I didn't**look** anything to anyone. _

"_The fat one. That's M. Gounod. Papa..." she whispered, pointing to the more familiar, "that's him."_

"_Gounod?" I wondered aloud, "No relation to?- oh, nevermind." _

_I already had enough of a headache to even try to contemplate anything remotely pertaining to...ugh, opera. They shushed me. _

_The one who bore no resemblance whatsoever to his namesake began again, "You don't seem to be taking me very seriously. When you told me you'd consider investing in my factory venture I didn't think you'd lead me on all this way just to drop me like a newborn calf."_

"_If you want my input you'll wait on my terms. I said I would consider and I'm still considering," their father replied frankly as Andoir took up his hat and coat from one of the well polished office chairs._

_Then he laughed a laugh sounding more like a dying cat than a dying cat does and leered almost formidably, "You're a fickle man, but I rather admire that staunch iron will of yours. Never does it fail to be careful with gambles and such when one has the little oiseaux to tend to. I understand."_

_And with that said in what he fancied to be a quite humorous manner(more like a sneer than anything else), the beggar strutted curtly out the office door- not to miss the girls who fell back on me the instant he addressed them._

"_Bonjour ladies."_

_With the tip of his hideous green hat he bade them a polite adue, leaving behind the poor, fickle Vicomte Raoul DeChagny without another word._

_I wasn't quite sure whether I disliked this fellow or not._

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Raoul didn't lift his gaze to the doorway which by then was open enough to reveal the startled Soisette and Elyssa. He only took his forehead between right thumb and forefinger and gestured for their immediate presence in the office. The two scuttled readily off of their divine guardian and like attentive soldiers to the feet of a more persuasive one.

"And what were you told this morning?" he inquired sternly.

"We're sorry Papa," the duo chimed together, hoping to work their devilish spells.

Erik stood where he was, now entirely self assured of his invisibility. It seemed to him that he had spent more time flat on his ass around this place than anything else. Either that or on his face. Given, it may have been because he had only been other-worldly for less than twenty-four hours.

He stalked back the the middle of the mansion's lobby before he had the chance to endure any touching family moments. He would have lost his brioche if there had been. The girls' verbal chastising turned to no more than a faint mutter as he neared the parlor they had entered in. French doors led back to the terrace. What he wouldn't give for escape! Erik looked back again to the front office before inviting himself into the caressing daylight that awaited to subdue his longing. Blood-curdling, dismal whines emitted from behind the now closed door. Such incorrigible little _oiseaux_ his dear old acquaintance was saddled with. One almost had to feel sorry for the poor fellow...almost. But that was when something too frightening to fathom dawned on him.

Five weeks. Oy vey.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_**-TQ-**_

**Thank you all for the generous support! For my first venture I'm rather liking where this is going. I promise it'll pick up from here so do be patient wit' meh XD**

**If you read my profile you'll notice I've given the heads up for my impending epic phic, The Shatteréd. It's still in development but I've actually begun the first chapter so in other words, it's a confirmed 'go'. I'll be releasing a full synopsis as soon as I have things fully put in their place as far as plot and specifics go. **

**So much love to my supporters- and to the amazing cast of the 2008 Phantom U.S. tour whom I had the pleasure of seeing the weekend before last. I laughed. I cried. I almost mauled the guy sitting in front of me who wouldn't quit scratching his head every 5 seconds for the entire first act. It was all so breathtaking. And yes, I have been inhaling my fresh program for the past week. Ahhh, it's like crack for theatre lovers.**

**Vive, -TQ-**


	5. Chapter 5: Les Not So Miserablés

* * *

**Chapter 5: Les Not So Misérables **

* * *

Erik groaned as something began to poke him repeatedly in the side. His eyes refused to obey when he willed them to open. Neither did he have the strength to lift himself from the slump in which he rested. The firm garden chair he was sprawled across had doubtlessly held his weightless frame for a considerable amount of time. Through the roof of the terrace, evening stars began taking the place of the liquidous beads earlier in the day. A nightingale lifted his voice from the thickets and the peace that wafted down from the pink tinted skies was absorbed by the earth spread below it.

And there was much poking.

He finally stirred as they became more aggressive, "Don't you children know any better than to disturb people when they're sleeping?!"

Soisette cast him a pinch-faced glance, "For nine hours?"

He hadn't noticed how long he had been asleep. It had been late morning when the terrace had beaconed him. Even as irritable as he had been- and still was...or always was - it seemed rather off that he would allow himself to sleep for such a terribly long period. 

Erik smoothed back his tousled hair with a grunt of laggard distaste. For nine hours, give or take, he had been in a near coma as it seemed. No angels. No being run ragged around an expansive estate. No Raouls. Just...nothing, and he throve on it. The majority of his life had consisted of years of deteriorating nothingness. When something finally _did_ happen to him he found himself seeking that solitude again. As much as he abhorred it, that loneliness was as familiar and almost as securing as a blanket to an infant.

"Well!" he shouted, "What is it you want?"

"For you to come to dinner," said Elyssa.

* * *

Picture, if you will, a charming domestic scene. A table set with lavish china, fine food and lit with candles. The room surrounding is cozy yet refined with its low ceiling and golden embellishments that danced with the flickers of candlelight. Within the setting: at the table sits a father, a mother, two siblings, a rather frail featured woman and, well...

Erik was more or less like the disgruntled uncle who looked as is if he did not belong anywhere in the image whatsoever. From his scowling visage one would easily suggest he belonged in a rather gothic illustration of someone waiting in line for an execution. Our angel sat between the two girls- not the wisest place to be- who were giving each other nasty looks as the result of a dispute they had gotten into earlier. Raoul fidgeted at the table's end, seeming to be plagued by a consumedly anxious state of mind. The unfamiliar guest giggled obnoxiously like a school girl despite her being apparently near Christine's age. Glasses clinked, things were shuffled about as things at meals often do. Erik's wide glances proved just as sporadic. He took in the scene with an encompassing mixture of shock, awe, and indignation. One word could describe it in all totality: awkward.

But it was only a matter of time, you can easily imagine, before his wandering gaze turned once again to the woman he so idolized. Christine had quietly taken her place at the opposite side's far corner, to Raoul's right side. Every move she made captivated him so completely, from the way she lifted her glass down to the flitter of her eyelashes. He had never envisioned anyone so composed, so graceful, so cultured, so... 

Soisette and Elyssa suddenly broke into a violent slapping fight, reaching across him to flat-hand each other wildly. But even with the two girls clawing only inches away, the strange woman babbling on incessantly about something inparticular to what seemed to be herself, and the perturbed Vicomte banging on the table for order, his trance was unbroken. Through the chaos going on around him, he still fancied himself and Christine being the only two there. Erik rested an enamored chin atop one hand as the other blissfully trailed the rim of a nearby chalice. Within this state of mindless euphoria another ridiculous grin crept across his face and all was right in his little world- even though the object of his fanciful affection was scowling with disappointment and anxiety as the fighting grew more intense. The scene's noise was becoming overpowering.

Soisette lunged for her sister, and the other vise versa, which finally constituted for intervention by the father. Raoul was soon having to pull the still embattled Soisette off of the younger child as she struggled with all the tenacity of a rabid animal, Elyssa's hair clinched in both hands. The two continued to go at each other basically across the lap of the obliviously infatuated angel. Erik paid no heed, even when they began to grab at his cloak for hold...even when the ruffians' wails crescendoed to the point of nearly shattering glass.

With the flailing Soisette in his arms, Raoul shouted something indistinguishable in the direction of his now profoundly upset wife.

"What?!" she cried out over the sustained pandemonium, trying as hard as she may to preserve her composure in front of their guest and not doing a very keen job of it.

"I SAID!---..."

His voice trailed off, swallowed whole by another high pitched measure of caterwauling from the girls. The floor began to vibrate. Their house-guest continued to talk. Erik continued to pant.

Finally, Christine sprung from her place, fists clinched at her sides, to help attend to her barbaric offspring. She took Elyssa up; the two had to be torn apart, still kicking and squalling.

As soon the as separation with force on both sides was attempted, the girls began to shriek together in what possibly could have been the highest, loudest, most ear-splitting pitch known to man...

"ERIK HEEEEELP!"

Then, as if on some eerie cue, half of the dining room candles were swept out in an instant. Within that same frame of seconds Christine let out a startling roar, "**Everyone,****STOP DAMN IT**".

Her voice sounded so possessed and savage that no one there had ever imagined the delicate woman striking such a tone. It chilled to the bone like ice and halted the turn of the earth for a brief moment. Never-mind the language- the sound was much fiercer. Erik sighed heavily, forgetting the fact that his cover was blown to some extent. She possessed such strength, such power, such diaphramic perfection...

The room was plunged into sultry silence. Soisette and Elyssa relinquished their battle immediately following their mother's frighteningly out of character outburst of protest. At least knowing better than to push her further over the limit, the two dropped from their parents' arms to scuttle rapidly back to their seats. They both sensed immanent doom- a fair assumption- and sunk down as low as they could possibly muster. The woman who had been seated next to Christine had paused her unintelligent clucking but did not look disturbed in the least.

Raoul shot the girls a customary "don't-you-even-**think-**of-getting-up-from-that-chair" sort of look before dashing to replace the dead flames with those of the live ones. The frazzled mother tended her equally frazzled hair for a moment with all the dignity she had left to show for- shortly before slamming the "empty" chair that had sat between the two children, along with the weightless Erik, violently into the table with a forced smile to try and hide her embarrassment. But in his mind he fancied that she had done it with love, which made the pain a heck of a lot more endurable.

* * *

Picture, if you will, our endearing scene before it became so... disheveled. Within a matter of minutes the equivalent of peace was restored. The same morale? Not so much.

"But she looked at me funny," whimpered Soisette.

"Quiet!" bellowed Raoul, stabbing at the roast on his plate with a snarl. "I've already dealt with both of you _twice_ today. And what's this 'Erik' business? I'll have--"

"_**That**_" Christine interrupted, eyes ablaze with savage urgency, "...will be _quite_ enough for this evening, thank you dear."

Her instability at this point came as no surprise. Erik flinched. All the "attention", of course, made him sensibly nervous. He cursed the little miscreants these people called children and wrung the supernatural sweat from his hands.

The offenders had been immediately separated from one another. Elyssa, the seemingly more benign of the pair, remained in the place beside Erik. Banished to the opposite side, Soisette pouted well within Christine's reach. Erik looked down briefly at the empty place before him. He had gotten his fill of thick pastry earlier on in the day and took no want of anything, as he explained to the child. Well, almost anything. Elyssa noted to him in the softest of whispers that he had begun to drool a bit. He snapped her a defensive retort shortly before turning conspicuously to wipe it away. 

The adults' conversation weaved on lightly between residents and house-guest. She was Patrice Bonnet(called Prissy out of endearment) and a close friend of Christine's. She was also- as Erik blatantly labeled- very, _very_ annoying. Monotonous chatter spouted from her in the way of a fountain. It seemed that not a single breath of inhale was taken between her lengthly strings of gibberish. She spoke so quickly that one had to strain to even remotely understand her at times- not that one would particularly want to understand her.

"For the _millionth_ time Prissy, it isn't necessary that you should trouble yourself with the girls while we're gone. The sitter we hired is more than qualified," Raoul insisted.

"A little checking up every so often wouldn't hurt a thing. And you'll be away for ever so long. I think they should enjoy a bit of their own personal company," Prissy flittered a hand and an overly sacchrined smile at Soisette. The child returned her flighty affections with a grimace of degradation. 

"I'm sure they would just adore it but really dear, don't fret over them. They'll be just fine," added Christine.

"Oh no no no no, no trouble at all! We'll have such fun together. You'll see."

Soisette made such an eloquent gagging gesture behind her mother's back that Elyssa couldn't help herself but giggle.

"Why I was bragging on your little angels only yesterday. Madame Fourche had taken to asking me about how you manage to have them so well learned with what little time you have of your own so I naturally _had_ to tell her how brilliant their tutor is, such a lovely man indeed, one of our own Parisian scholars, oh, and hadn't you told me he--"

And on she went for a _great_(and believe, dear reader, it was _great_) while, what seemed like a single sentence dragging until a handsome amount of wax seeped from the candle tips and Raoul had caught himself from nodding off at least four times. Elyssa played gingerly at her food as Prissy's in depth and rather droll analysis of the state of France's education dredged on. Like clockwork, Christine would humor her by nodding in a perfect set pattern. This, in turn, egged the woman on. _That_ in turn gave Erik plenty of opportunity to contemplate suicide attempts with the various items lying around the table. 

Remembering that he was already dead did not help the situation.

As far as he was concerned, the lilty, nasal trainwreck of jargon that escaped so freely from this obliviously shallow woman...was torture. If he hadn't feared making the chair move and scaring the living daylights out of everyone- which, he determined, would not be in his best interest, especially now since his name had been so outrightly, er, mentioned- he would have been long out of there. Probably into the literature in the office or otherwise; to be anywhere but that infernal dining room would have been a blessing. Lust and reverie was taken over by the gnawing need to be free from this...this..._rrrrr_.

Prissy carried on into a rollicking batch of gossip.

"...and _that_ was when I just _had _to bring up what she had told me after Jonsohns' dinner party last month. I simply had to! They would have tarnished the man's good name if I hadn't. In all my days I've never seen such-"

It was like being pulled up from the pit of hell when Christine finally spoke, "So sorry to interrupt Prissy, but the children really do need to be getting along to bed. I'm afraid we have things to attend to before going off tomorrow as well. A dreadful lot of packing left to do. I do hope you understand."

'The woman's a saint,' thought Erik longingly.

Prissy giggled sweetly as she spoke, standing from her chair, "It was a lovely dinner, much obliged dear. My kindest regards to Mister Porter- he makes quite the roast if I do say so. I wish you both a pleasant trip. Oh, London is wonderful this time of year!"

Thanks were exchanged. More well-wishing was done. A short, stoic fellow began to clear the table without a solitary word. Erik presumed the man to be the butler/cook Mr. Porter from his radically un-native features. A Brit no doubt. 

Raoul- thoroughly ready for their dear friend's leave- retrieved Prissy's shawl like an eager page. After draping it lightly over her shoulders he rested a perfunctory kiss aside her cheek, in turn met with friendly smile.

"Take care of yourselves," she said softly, giving the couple a motherly nod before waltzing out of the dining room, familiar enough with the house as she was its residents. The black silk of the shawl trailed behind her- as did the tension of the room. When the distant bark of the closing front door rang through the halls, all heads turned to the girls, who upon Prissy's exit had attempted making themselves invisible. It didn't work.

The words 'inexcusable', 'disrespectful', and 'disappointed' were used liberally but ineffectively throughout the lecture that followed. Erik- though not in the business of considering himself the guru of child rearing- managed to notice how faulty their lines of punishment were...being that there were none at all. It was so outwardly obvious that these people had a distinct fear of making these children uncomfortable in any way. Soisette and Elyssa were _asked_ ever so politely, ever so pleadingly not to repeat their abominable stunt before being sent to bed. And in front of a house-guest too! Surely the children would take great care to analyze their wrongdoings. Surely such an embarrassing incident would never happen again. And so a great burden was lifted from the parents without their going through the unnecessary evils of discipline. After all, deep down, they really were good little girls. An apparent sense of accomplished relief fell over the couple as the girls bounded obediently away to their chambers.

'Prance like an antelope, spit like a cobra' 

Such were the musings of the cynical angel. He had to laugh to keep from crying.

Later on that night, when the ruffians were tucked into bed and everything was dimmed and quiet, Erik seized the glorious opportunity to haunt the halls. This time he was alone. This time he knew what he was looking for.

It took a while to round the other staircase and follow the other hallway, but his efforts were rewarded when Christine's solitary figure crossed before him on the way to the end bedroom. Solitary being what he was most grateful for. Even when she opened the door Raoul was nowhere to be found. Soft, inviting light spilled from inside the room when she entered, leaving the door wide open. 

"I shouldn't...I mean I _really_ shouldn't," he said to himself, leaning blissfully against the door-frame, toying with his own mind. Surely he wasn't serious.

One-track mind set, he primped quickly before beginning a dramatic sashay through the door. 

In a split instant Cherise materialized before him, arms crossed, face as stern and overbearing as a marble bust's. Poking a single finger into him she said, "I can't leave you alone can I?"

"Oh come now! She can't even see me."

"That," she released, throwing him back a few inches, "is beside the point. She doesn't concern you. You're an angel and it's about time you started acting like one. Which doesn't, by the way, include waltzing into women's' rooms."

"I'm not 'waltzing in'. I'm securing the area; a guardian am I or am I not?" he checked her smartly.

"If this is what you'd call securing I'd hate to see what you'd call stalking."

He gave a somewhat menacing laugh, ignoring her completely, "Old habits die hard."

Once free of his minor distraction, he meandered in unnoticed, eyes locked on his prize who sat in front of the vanity mirror beside the bed. She ran brush through her hair, humming some indistinguishable, melody. As he neared the scent of heavy perfume wafted through the air, drawing him closer with such sweet memories that he was lifted, literally, off his feet. He hadn't noticed he was floating until she was only inches away- the closest she had been to him in ages. Easing himself down, he reached out to her cautiously...leaning...trembling...

When his fleshless hand caressed the side of her face he swore her breathing stopped for a fleeting moment. But nothing much else. She continued to brush, continued to hum, continued to act completely unmoved. In that moment he would have given anything to be alive again. _Anything_. He called her, hoping there was enough silence to be heard. But no amount of silence could break what stood between them. Divinity. He repeated her name with such mounting urgency that before long he was pleading as loud as he could...shouting...crying in fact, until he was right in front of her. Not a hint of acknowledgment did he receive in return.

Finally, pushed to the point of desperation, he threw himself into her, praying for embrace- finding the floor. He fell straight through her, including chair in which she sat. Ultimately defeated, he stood again only to stumble to the nearby bed, collapsing with no visible force. This unbelievably close...and he couldn't even touch her.

She began to mutter to herself, the brush in her hand trembling, "Don't be ridiculous, you're losing your mind. Listen to yourself. It doesn't make any sense..."

"Who are you talking to?" asked Raoul casually before entering with large stack of linens in hand. Erik didn't budge, though he impulsively wanted to. Nothing could have thrown salt in his wounds more generously.

She dropped the brush instantaneously, stammering to explain herself. Finally, with a deep burdened breath, Christine was able to meet her partner's worried gaze.

"I know it's not the best time but... I need to tell you something."

He took up her hands in his own, "Yes?"

"Do you remember...what I told you this morning? The girls...after I went to see what had happened. Soisette mentioned a man- with a mask. And at dinner..."

There was a long, suffocating pause. Raoul's expression turned grave, "What have you been telling them?"

"Nothing!" she retorted, "I haven't told them _anything_. That's what scares me."

"They couldn't have just made this up on their own. Someone had to have put the idea into their heads-"

"You think I would lie to you about this?" her voice wavered with fear. Erik pulled himself up from the bed and, being able to bear no more, stumbled to the door. In its frame he shook, not able to turn away. With despair, longing to.

"Then you've settled it, by God. But can you explain it?" asked the house's master.

Christine tore away at the sting of his distrust, "I can't."

But in place of harsh words he brought her gaze back to his own. Their lips met...the angel cringed.

* * *

_I dragged myself back to the girls' room like a starved, beaten dog. How I wanted to tell myself to forget. I wanted to push them to the back of my mind the way I had done all those deteriorating years. To pretend you don't care, to feed off lies you tell yourself, to live on after you've been mortally wounded, to feel it when you are immortal... this is the greatest pain of all. I bore it even then, even when it "wasn't my business". Cling to the hate- it was all I had ever known. It was the only thing strong enough to numb that pain._

_Soisette and Elyssa were asleep. Although there was no light before, a strange guiding force returned me to the room as if it were my own. A bed of pillows and a rich down comforter had been made up in the day bed that was embedded into the bay window. I crept lightly past their sleeping silhouettes, scowling down at them from the deepest pit of my welled up hatred. Only a day they and they had tapped into my most profound disgust. The devils. They knew lives many a soul could only dream of. Lives of privilege and acceptance. Acceptance. They would be welcomed into the families of the area's most prominent. The world's most prominent perhaps. And still they were as wild and unruly as street urchins. But what shook me most violently to my core was that they were the product of something I could never have. In the back of my mind I could make out the most persistent of voices: they should have been yours. **She**should have been yours. And here you are, facing down this fallen dream. You are its slave now. This is your punishment. This is your hell._

_With those pleasantries rolling fresh through my mind I collapsed for the thousandth time that day into the tiny "bed", not in the least tired. But enough with this self-torture already. I was, oh, what do you people in this crazy 21st century call it..._

_Screwed?_

* * *

_**-TQ-**_

**And that's all for chapter cinq, if I may. The tone won't stay this serious for long I can assure.**

**I got the idea of having the 3rd-person narrated parts being told from our time period just recently. It'll all tie together quite nicely at the end. Once again, thanks for reading! You all deserve a cookie for getting this far.**


	6. Chapter 6: Evasive Tactics

_**TQ- So much for finnishing this chapter by the end of Easter break. Ah well, catch up and tell me what you think anyway. We're fixin'(as we say in the south) to meet one of my more -ahem- endearing characters- as our angel does have quite the way with animals- so sit and stay...**_

_**I'm lovin' the comments too, hoping you'll keep em' coming. Thank you all for the patience!  
**_

* * *

**Chapter 6: Evasive Tactics**

* * *

"Don't...leave...me..." Erik sniveled. Pressing his face against the polished front parlor window, he looked on in dispair as Raoul loaded the last f the footlockers into the awaiting carriage. The morning was wide, grand and fresh: perfect for traveling. Nevertheless, Christine balked in hesitation before stepping out into it from the familiar mouth of the mansion. An air of vexedness could be easily sensed with only a passing glance of her drowsy yet sleep-laden eyes. It had not been a good night. As her husband took overly-thorough inventory of their not-so-scant batch of cargo, she turned to study the mansion's front windows every moment or so, as if she were being watched. And she was. The angel took her in with that ever-longing stare that she was lucky she could not see- for it held enough grief and uncertainty to bring the hardest heart to its knees. You see, there is nothing more terrible for the departed than to be forgotten. To be left behind was to be _again_ forgotten. To be left behind with your arch-rival's two unruly children was subsequently worse.

When Raoul at last had all squared away, Christine worriedly asked, "Are you _sure_ we should still go?" for what seemed the hundredth time that morning.

"Don't let it bother you. Everything will be fine," he assured rather snappishly. Raoul bore the blunt end of everything- at least that was how he felt.

"But what if something really is...wrong? What if...?"

"-continental Europe sprouted wings and flew into the sun? We, my dear, would be in a heap of trouble, that's _what if._" He waved their driver a hasty gesture to ready him before returning to her, "I've had quite enough of this foolishness. There's nothing wrong and nothing is going to go wrong. You said yourself they would be fine."

"Yes, but that was until-" she resisted as he practically leapt into the cabin, blinded with outright frustration.

"She'll be here any minute now if that's what's got you in such a dither. I guarantee nothing but _nothing_ is going to happen as long as the caretaker is here. The woman's as vigilant as they come."

"But..."

Finally succumbing to his mounting agitation, he took hold of her wrist and lightly pulled her into the cab, "Now Christine!" She gave way immediately.

Erik pounded the windowpane with all loose fury, "Don't you _**dare**_ speak to her that way you filthy!-"

A tiny voice lilted from behind him, "Are you talking to yourself again?" It was Soisette. She held in the crook of one arm a doll endowed with a chenille dress the color of emerald, hanging down from the neck. Elyssa followed in suit. The two had already bade their quietly distraught parents a hurried farewell to join their new guardian at the window to see them off.

"Terrible habit," he growled, glancing down at Soisette from the corner of one eye, the other trying its best to follow the carriage out of the circular drive. They waisted not a second to be free of home's grip. But was it his fault their departure was so disturbed and insensitive? Certainly. He wasn't proud of himself. But did they deserve it?

Elyssa pushed her sister out of the way for a better view. This little disruption quickly escalated into another miniature war between the two. Erik ignored it, certainly not caring- that is, until one of them missed the other and took a swing at him.

"Alright you little neanderthals," he caught each by the back of the neck, "we're going to play a game."

Their eyes lit and they stopped their fighting to look at him. "Really?" they chortled. Soisette flung the doll which landed carelessly face down into a nearby armchair.

"Yes really," he grinned widely and said in a soppy tone, "It's called 'Sit On This Sofa And Be Particularly Quiet Until Madame What's-Her-Face Shows Up So Erik Doesn't Go Completely Out Of His Mind And Cause Any Unintentional Harm To Anyone"

He sat them down with an animated clasp of his hands on the nearby couch, each on one far end. But his enormous fake smile was surprisingly unconvincing. Soisette stood on the cushion and began to bounce, prompting Elyssa to join. He ordered them both to stop and when that didn't work, took lunging for them. Springing from the furniture like escaped circus monkeys, the girls laughed with delight, toppling everything they touched and everything they didn't, urging him to chase faster. He created no less discord barreling after them. But if he hadn't been so preoccupied crawling under furniture to try to get a hold of Elyssa he would have noticed Cherise's appearance, in normal, life-sized form, in the center of the room. Upon materializing she studied the scene, giving a tsk of disappointment.

She clapped twice in the palm, startling her charge. Erik hit his head squarely against the hardwood bottom of the daybed he was lodged under and was content to stay half hidden beneath it after that. The girls were equally surprised. A divine figure with incredible white wings glowing like a stained-glass saint suddenly appearing in the middle of _your_ front parlor would have surprised you too. Sure enough, Soisette and Elyssa ceased their squealing tirade to gawk in awe. Their faces lit with wonder as Cherise paused momentarily to plump up her exquisite golden ringlets of hair. To them she seemed more of a perfect porcelain doll than an actual being. Erik moaned.

"Come come darlings!" she crooned, drawing the children in with a voice that much resembled wild honey dripping softly to a forest floor. As if hypnotized by the motion of her hands, they sat down attentively at her feet. Soisette reached out to touch the hem of Cherise's flowing white gown. The angel only smiled down sweetly and knelt to wrap a maternal hand around the child's face.

"My, aren't you both precious! Nevermind that brute, loves, I'm here," her words wrapped them in comforting caress, dipping and diving softly like a dove in flight.

Elyssa was the first to pipe, "You must be an angel...just like ours!"

Erik's muffled rumble could be heard from beneath the daybed, "_Ours_? I beg your pardon!"

"Hush!" Cherise chastised, "Can't you see you've frightened them?...Yes lambs, just like yours."

After glancing over at Erik's visible half, Soisette whispered to their visitor, "Do you think we could get an exchange? You're sooo much prettier."

"And you've got wings!" gasped little Elyssa, running the back of her hand over the sparkling feathers.

"And so much _nicer_" added Erik.

"I'm afraid not. But you'll have to be patient with him- he's male after all, angel or not," Cherise laughed tenderly, "Oh Erik, do come out of there will you."

When he blatantly refused it only to the wave of her hand to resurrect him from his hiding place. Soon suspended in the air before them all, thoroughly degraded and hot tempered as an old mare, he enclosed himself within a shroud of resentment and eyed Cherise the way one would a poisonous snake. When dropped to his feet he addressed her spitefully, "Ah, what a pleasant surprise, isn't it children? I thought surely you'd be polishing halos or bounding through a meadow somewhere at this time in the morning- whatever you do that's so important."

"I had no idea you missed me so terribly," she sidled up to him with a glint of flirtatiousness, "Quite honestly I came to see you."

Shameless giggles escaped both little girls, as giddy as could be imagined. Playful nudges passed between them as they whispered to each other like the nosy old Parisian gossips. Erik gritted- he was being made a fool of and took it quite personally.

"I couldn't help noticing that you could use a little...mmm, help," said Cherise cordially.

Erik massaged his aching forehead with a wince, " What on earth makes you think I need your help?"

Purposely ignoring him, the winged beauty clapped for the girls' attentions once again, "Alright ladies. Since someone wants to be stubborn I shall have to introduce myself: I am the good Saint Cherise and I've come to assist my personal charge."

Soisette let out a snark, "So you're like his boss!"

"You could say that," she gave Erik an innocent look. "He has to be looked after as well as you do- perhaps even more-so."

Elyssa tugged shyly at Cherise's lengthy sleeve, have her bend down to whisper something in her ready ear. The angel obliged with "yes"es and "mm-hmms" until the child was quite finished. She then returned to Erik, allowing the girls to engage another hyperactive game of chase, darting in and out of the furniture again.

"From what I hear, I think you'll be able to handle them. Now I know you never were the best with people, children much less, I understand, but I think if you just tried talking to them you could easily get them to listen," her soothing voice advised. The sureness in her remark almost spooked him but did nothing to phase. She had surprised him with sincerity- did she really intend to help him with this burden? He couldn't help wondering still if this was all a set up. He couldn't help wondering still- _why the hell am I here?_ The only way he knew how to react to this was in resentment.

"Whatever you say...as long as they aren't your problem, eh?" he shot back mordantly.

"I see, " she sighed, nodding with blissful, all-knowing smile in disregard to his snappishness, "But a simple thank you would have sufficed."

Some defenseless table decoration fell and shattered suddenly behind them both. "You'd like that sort of self-disparagement now wouldn't you?" he scoffed.

The abrupt opening of the front door caught everyone but the ever-composed Cherise off guard. Past the opened parlor door waddled a woman no younger than eighty, a bulging carpet bag in her left hand, the right holding her gaudy chapeau in place atop wispy grey locks that poked out like feather trimmings of a bird's nest, and a repulsive snarl across her bulldoggish jowls. Back hunched and bosom hanging, she looked completely indifferent to her grand surroundings and more as if she had crawled straight out of the grave and would be more partial to returning rather than being where she was at the moment. The stoic old thing wore a crimson afghan- despite it being the middle of the summer- that made one itch just looking at her. She moved at a blinding four inches per minute. The girls had stopped their games upon her entry to get a closer look at the strange looking woman- if it was indeed human rather than vegetable.

"What is _that_?" asked Erik, directed at no one in particular. His face scrunched into the same look of distaste as Soisette's who peeked out at the "that" from behind him.

"_That_," Cherise obliged cheerfully, "is Madame Soileaux. _That_ is who you will be filling in for."

"Filling in for?"

The old woman gave a frightening sort of moan-slash-grunt that sounded much like "neeeeearrghra" but resembled no natural sound that was currently known to man.

"Yes dear. You see she's not exactly as... shall we say 'able' as a caretaker should be. It isn't her fault, the poor old thing, but you will be responsible for everything she can't tend to."

"Which is?"

"Cooking, cleaning, mending, straightening, the stables, the bedrooms, the parlors, the kitchen, the lawns...and of course-," she lifted Elyssa fervently into his unwilling arms(the child immediately latching onto his neck in adoring embrace), "your little angels."

He was too completely infuriated, especially with Elyssa slowly strangling him, to say a word. When he finally gained somewhat of the stability to do so he pointed an accusing finger at the nonchalant saint.

"First of all!-" he began dramatically. There was an awkward sort of pause before he continued, somewhat less effectively than before,"-they aren't mine!"

Cherise lifted a bemused single eyebrow, topping off a blank stare. Madame Soileaux gave another undead howl from some unseen sector of the foyer. The girls eyeballed him, Elyssa still in his free arm that wasn't pointing.

"Second of all- I...I can't!...I'm not meant- I mean I never meant to...this is not!...I am _thoroughly_!..."

"Delighted I'm sure. It will be such an experience, and you'll have plenty of time with the girls by the looks of it. You three do seem to be warming up to each other nicely- oh, how wonderful!!"

"Yes," he said coldly, still trapped in Elyssa's constricting embrace, "...and I _dare _say we've become quite attached already." He struggled to free the child's grip to no avail.

Surrender. There was no use in fighting it. The angel had swindled him. Not only was he nanny- oh none of that simple business of wiping noses all day! He was maid. He was groom. He was lawn jockey. He was butler. He was cook. It wouldn't have come as a surprise if he were to be anonymously volunteered to start an orphanage or bathe the homeless.

Cherise took thusly a golden chained pocket watch from one of her ample sleeves, apparently to check her status of time while chasing some divine agenda. She apologized profusely to the children for her having so soon to depart.

"Won't you come back?" pleaded Elyssa, finally letting go of Erik who did not feel rejected in the least.

"Small favors," she tapped the little girl's nose affectionately, "Perhaps if you both stayed on your best behavior for Monsieur Self-Disparagement it could be arranged." And with this warm assurance the girls each gave her nods of promise before disappearing to either greet or examine the one called Soileaux for themselves. The angels were left alone.

"Do try to get along with them," she broke the short stillness, "Children have their ways...but they do think fondly of you."

"After a day they're this admiring?" he skepticized.

"Why it's in their nature- for little girls I mean. One way or another I think you've charmed them. God only knows...perhaps it's in the blood-" Cherise mused with a thoughful smile.

"Don't. Just...don't," he adverted his eyes from her scornfully.

A cloud shifted in the sky, uncovering the sun and casting warm rays through the parlor window.

"I didn't mean ill Erik. You really must understand. Just try to consider what I ask of you...what _we_ expect of you," said Cherise cheerfully. He didn't think she was striking the proper tone, nor did he quite understand what she said having anything to do with anything discussed previously. He dismissed it with more resent than before.

A pause staled the air in a rather serene sort of way.

Erik looked up at her abruptly, asking spontaneously, "But why are you _really_ here?"

"To give you your orders- you aren't daft, love."

"But I'm certain you must have a reason for taking the time to-..."

"Make you look like a complete idiot?" she folded her arms smartly. "Or are you wanting to play nice now?"

"Not quite ready to play nice...but I appreciate, well, you know..."

"Very well," she nodded bluntly, sparing him further displeasure. "I...I suppose I came to give you this as well."

In her outstretched palm appeared a very object that looked awfully like a glass stone, no larger than a small rock. Handing it to him with a hint of hesistation, she told him softly "It's a Sthone."

"A _stone_ you mean"

"No, a Sthone."

"And what good is this Sthone?" he asked, studying it passively.

She sighed, "You'll come to find out in your own good time. Just...keep it with you. Don't question it...I'm doing you a favor. And do _try_ Erik- you are blind to a blessing you don't understand either."

And then she was gone. Erik was left quite alone with this useless rock. He pocketed it, for he had enough common sense not to completely disregard it and not enough interest to pursue an answer further. Apparently she was incapable of explaining anything concisely. 'Why me?' he thought, unsatisfied.

Suddenly there were a bursts of laughter- rather frightening bursts of laughter, the kind you would expect from a mad doctor- and something of enlivened screams from the direction the girls had skipped off to.

Since he was now primary- disfunctional nevertheless- guardian he felt it necessary to see what the little vermin were into.

"For all I know they could have the poor woman bound, gagged and roasting on a spit," he said to himself.

Why him indeed.


	7. Chapter 7: A Way With Women

* * *

**Chapter 7: A Way With Women**

* * *

_I found them. However, it's no great feat to discover the whereabouts of two particularly raucous girls. They had trailed the old woman like pack hounds into the spacious drawing room a ways along the right wing. Once there, Madame Soileaux must have retired immediately to the sofa upon which she lay when I joined the scene, having dropped her bag which lay half open beside her. What a delicate sleeper! Her head hung back unnaturally, revealing folds of wrinkled flesh where a neck should have been, and nostrils flared out as wide as a horse's with mouth equally agape. Her snoring was atrocious. It certainly didn't sound like a woman. It sounded like a dying animal...or, if one would so graciously prefer, like La Carlotta on one of her good days._

_I watched in silence as the girls peeked over the arm she lay back closest to. Unnoticing of my presence, Soisette reached over to the old thing with an impish grin and prodded her in the ample stomach. Madame Soileaux lurched then quoted dutifully in her sleep, "In forming the plan of a campaign, it is requisite to foresee everything the enemy may do, and to be prepared with the necessary means to..." And then went into an indistinguishable din of muttering until she was prodded again and exclaimed with a jump, still in a deep but restless coma of sleep, "...the heart of a statesman must be in his head!"_

_Soisette and Elyssa exploded with the same horrid laughter. Not only did the woman not awake at the noise, she fell over with a theatrical "thump" like a frightened goat and remained in that rather disturbing, bent-sideways position as if she had been suddenly stabbed in the back. The snoring resumed. Soisette reached over again, this time further to repeat the cycle of entertainment._

"_That will be quite enough of that," I encroached._

_Soisette only laughed, "But look what happens when you..-"_

"_Pestering the senile is hardly honorable, child. More importantly, it is loud and I've had enough loud over the past twenty-four hours sufficient to last a lifetime. Stop touching that poor thing...you don't know where it's been," sneered I. _

_Soisette sent me a pleading look, as if she would be so miserably bored otherwise. The blue satin ribbon hung loosely in her curls, close to undone from fighting. For such a belligerent little soul she was indeed delicate. It wasn't a hard notice at all._

_When I had their undivided attention, I lectured as I examined the lethargic caretaker, "As much as I am **thrilled** to be your personal slave, I do believe it necessary to lay out a few ground rules. Firstly, I'll have no screaming, shouting, shrieking or anything of the sort. Do I make myself clear?"_

_The children nodded. Madame Soileaux's unconscious limb suddenly fell and hung off the side of the sofa as I passed by. Trust your dear Erik, devoted, it was disgusting._

"_Ugh... very well then. I should also like to make it inescapable that there will be no scuffling like savages inside the house. Whatever you break I apparently have to clean up. Therefore you may so kindly tear each other apart out of doors, as long as you stay clear of the shrubberies and what all else. Unless either one of you loses a limb I would rather not be disturbed and furthermore...are you listening to me?!"_

_They weren't. Both sets of eyes were firmly affixed to the beast that stared us down from the hallway outside. It stood stock still and trembling. The creature's nose twitched like a nervous rabbit's as its beady black eyes gorged themselves on me, flinching when I made a slight move. It cocked its head, seeming to assess the situation, then stretched its dainty neck out into the room. One forefoot followed cautiously, then another. It watched me in the strangest, most captivated sort of way, not in the least bit concerned with the children. How unlucky for it._

"_OOOOOOOO!" they squealed, aghast with delight. In a fleeting moment they were on the ground communing with it. Soisette immediate took the animal up, grappling the upper body and front legs in her arms where it hung limp as a rag doll while Elyssa dotingly fondled one of its ears of tightly ringed white curls. Tiny bows of pink accented the base of these ears and a larger one was attached to the end of its rat tail. Its fur was cut in the most ridiculous looking manner. Fluffy balls of hair adorned the feet and two at the very top of the rump as if someone had pasted puffs of cotton there as a cruel joke. It's head and chest were amply fluffed as well as the tip of the tail- the rest was shaved naked. _

_The beast was unfazed, still staring me down with the same strange spark in its eye even as it was being cuddled indignantly like a stuffed plaything, which was exactly what it looked to be. The girls giggled and talked to it the way zealous old ladies do to infants. It was repulsive._

"_Don't pull it's paw so...that's a lovely way to get bitten!" I shouted, ready to pry them off the strange dog for fear I'd be held accountable should anything happen._

_The tiny thing barred its teeth as I neared. Its eyes turned savage with a hateful sort of defensive fire. "Nonsense Erik!" Soisette held the animal closer as it stiffened, "She's much to sweet to do such a terrible thing. Look here girl, he didn't mean it! She must belong to Madame Soileaux. Oh I've always wanted a poodle!"_

"_Put that thing down I say! There will be no dogs in the house!" _

"_Why not?" cried Elyssa, catching the deranged beast as it lunged for me out of Soisettes grasp._

"_Because I said so!" I didn't come a step further. The thing looked as if it would go into convulsions if I made another move. It snarled fiercely across its nasty little snout. This was exactly the kind of thing I needed at the moment...quite like a wooden stake in the head. I repositioned the mask calmly to show off my composure. How silly it is to be frightened of a dog that wouldn't fill half a meat pie._

_Soisette grabbed the enraged animal's black velvet collar and struggled to read the attached golden tag._

"_Buh-...beej-" she fought to see the engraved lettering against the dog's strains against her sister's hold. "BIJOU!"_

_The beast stopped its struggle at the sound of its name to lick the child in the face. Soisette laughed. Elyssa giggled. Bijou whipped her ugly tail back and forth happily, pulling her attention off of threatening old me as they continued to coddle her. I was not as amused._

"_Can't she stay Erik? We'll take care of her, honest we will! You won't have to clean anything," Soisette pleaded._

"_It isn't yours to take care of," I told her firmly. Madame Soileaux's snoring took precedence then and shook the foundation beneath our feet in a sudden burst. There was no doubt in my mind that the barbaric little thing belonged to her. Neither was I convinced that she would be waking at any near point in time. I was already saddled with the two brats and keeping up with that ridiculously expansive estate would be no little jaunt through Tuileries either. A temperamental toy poodle I did not need._

_They hugged the dog tighter, laying their pitiful eyes on thick. If they had found a new way to make me miserable they would cling to it for dear life. So are the ways of darling children._

"_Look!" I shouted, indicating to the sleeping woman sprawled gracelessly over the drawing room furniture, "I have enough to deal with already without tending this woman's psychotic beast! If either of you paid any attention to anything that's been said there would be no questioning it. It's just more for me do, isn't it?"_

"_But we'll...-"_

"_You will do no such thing! At least I know better than that." I was determined not to be swayed. Bijou's incessant barking ceased but I could easily tell how she regarded me. Never in my days had a seen an animal with such pent up anger against someone it did not even know. One could guess her reaction would be out of fear of an ominous looking stranger of course, but this disturbing stare down was bizarre. However, it may not have been all that confounding. This was not the only female I'd ever instilled such feelings in._

_The rat's eyes were still glued to my every move. A low growl came up again from the pit of her adorned throat. I had half a mind to growl back. Nothing, neither man nor beast, would out-vicious me. Not with what I've been forced to endure._

_I was growing impatient, "Now put that thing out before I throw it out!"_

_They begged. They cried. They groveled. It was apparent they were skilled in the art of the howling tantrum. But I stood firm before them. I would make on thing oh so very clear to them from the beginning: I am no Raoul DeChagny. I would show no mercy or would be shown no mercy to. Underneath those sweet, innocent mugs lied professional manipulation artists. At this point I resolved to keep this constantly in mind and hardened heart. That was it. __À l'enfer avec cette négociation!_ _They would surrender the dog. I would take the reins. I would walk away from this one victorious..._

* * *

_I'm still not sure what possessed me to pick up that dog. The immediate siege of all-sovereign control must have gone to my head because I soon found myself tending a nasty bite wound across the right wrist. Mademoiselle Bijou had outdone herself. It was quite impressive. But somehow, I felt, nothing had come out less intact than my dignity which, not to mention, was in as many shreds as the corner of the dining room rug I would find later on that the dog had taken to at liberty._

"_Does it bleed?" asked Soisette with enthusiastic gasp. She skipped into the kitchen, Bijou springing merrily at her heels, with an unwinding ribbon of gauze bandage trailing from the roll in her hands from out of the door and down the corridor._

_I cringed, dipping the bite into the pan of chilled water Elyssa had brought me and replied between gritted teeth, "No. No it doesn't."_

_The two crowded into me at the center of the table at which I stood, struggling to see exactly what such a wound would look like on an unearthly spirit like myself._

"_Does it hurt?" softly inquired the younger child, darling Elyssa, taking up my afflicted left arm with its ruffled white sleeve rolled high and pressing her plump, childish face against it tenderly. 'It's in their nature', I recalled. Never used to such affections, this angel resolved himself not to begin to play daddy dearest. As promised._

"_Yes," I said with sarcastic spite, trying to remove the little pest from me without result,"Convenient don't you find?"_

"_But how? Aren't you supposed to be an angel?"_

_How I did so appreciate the reminder. "It would seem so," I replied. Suddenly, something peculiar nudged the side of one leg. Bijou was sniffing me intently with a faint look that seemed to spell repulsion. Her snout was pinched as if smelling something awful. If I had been in any other "situation" that dog would not have lived long enough to be found in the next chapter. But for fear of a repeat bite, having to clean up the mess dispatching the obnoxious beast would necessitate or otherwise, I only tensed and was still._

_Soisette followed Elyssa's lead, delicately taking up my opposite arm and whimpered with pitiful tone, "She's sorry. She really is, see?" Those dinner-plate eyes watered a little as they expertly cast their wantful gaze up at me. _

_The beggars! Just like women- desperately trying to get a hold of your good side so they may wrap you around their fingers any which way they choose. The female creature may as well have been born with this uncanny skill. And how early they pick it up! They knew what they wanted and precisely how to get it: by being adorable. Unfortunately for them, you can imagine, such endearment had no effect on such a callous soul as mine, therefore I was immune. But I was never immune to everything..._

_I gave a glance down at the suddenly benign poodle at my feet. Bijou seemed to be playing up the moment to the best of her intellectual advantage. She was no less of a mooch than the other two arm-pieces. The dog gave a dainty sneeze at the most perfect moment. The girls "awww"ed pitifully and plead for my mercy upon the defenseless creature. Bijou faced sleeping outside, tied to something and well out of my hair. But when the tears started to fall I would find exactly what I wasn't immune to. _

_Soisette's bawling increased in gasping intensity as she spoke, "You-... you're just going to leave her out-... out there to die aren't you?! You don't care about her! You-... you don't care about us either! I bet you'd put us out to die too, w-w-wouldn't you?"_

_Their sobbing mixed into a flood of tears and flying childish accusations so extravagant that it was hard it believe all of this was over a dog that had been here for less than forty-five minutes. Notwithstanding, they used the last of their ammunition with full force. And it worked. _

_Enter my weakness: the crying woman._

_The battle was as good as lost. Chalk one up for the ankle biters._

_I, for one of the few times in my life-... -excusez-moi- ...**afterlife**, rather, I apologized(one may have called it pleading with finesse). Profusely. Somewhat embarrased, I covered up my apology by putting them in charge of her care and promising crossly that if she caused any more trouble or if they were lax about their duties she would be out of there in a split instant. This went over well- as well as could be imagined- and I was in their favor in no time at all. Oh the pleasantries of being forgiven! Nothing could have made me happier to see them relieved and elated that she could stay, and being thanked to a pulp for it. The girls danced about, enjoying the lively company that was their new companion. I wasn't good enough. Hmph! I was positively hurt. Perhaps, I mused kindly to myself, this would give them something to busy themselves. Perhaps, thought I, nasty little Bijou could save me a helping of trouble for what she was worth. Perhaps I hadn't lost after all._

_But I could feel those scraps of dignity being blown out of my reach as well as I could feel the squish of fresh dog dropping between my foot and the floor._

_...From Bijou with love. I always had a way with women..._

* * *


	8. Chapter 8: Bittersweet

TQ- Dare I say Erik's feeling a little "Von Trapp'd" in this next installment. As adorable as it sounds, I would like to assure, though, that there will be no making play-clothes out of drapery or leading catchy solfege song numbers in the mountains for him. No puppets or Nazis either...for Queenie is still not sure which she fears more gaspeth

* * *

**Chapter 8: Bittersweet**

* * *

"So...I presume there to be some schedule you follow," the angel inquired while busily rolling up the endless ribbon of gauze Soisette had let trail throughout the house. The girls followed keenly. Bijou was nowhere in sight. He assumed her to be stalking him out, waiting in some hidden crevice to spring out at him like the fanged monster she was. Soisette and Elyssa had attempted to coax her along with them but she only glanced blankly over to Erik, stuck up her nose and pranced out of sight- as if she did not think the spirit good enough for her company.

"Oh yes. Papa always makes sure of that," prompted Elyssa, "Structure is one of the most important cornerstones of our early development. Without a constantly enforced set of boundaries and respective instruction children cannot be fully productive or function at their utmost potential within their constant environment...that's what he always says."

"Well he sounds quite the perpetual ball of fun," Erik mumbled, rolling those golden eyes. Was this a five year old or a psychologist? 'Leave it to M. le Better-Than-You to make drawn out lectures about discipline when he can't even keep his own children from inciting wild brawls in the middle of dinner. And I thought I could brainwash with the best of them...' he considered smugly to himself.

"Quiet Lyssie!" snapped the older child.

Erik wound another loop of fabric around the growing spool and considered. Considered what was to be done with them. Nothing had gone _too_ terribly wrong yet. That is to say, everyone was still alive and the house still intact. All he had to do was give them two- maybe three feedings a day, make sure they sleep at some point, keep the kitchen knives out of reach...what more is there to it? If Raoul could handle it, anyone could. Perhaps he had overreacted earlier. After all, the entire mansion was his- aside from the lethargic old broad in the drawing room- and could very well be taken advantage of. That alone could make up for a wee bit of maintenance.

While everything was in order at the present he thought it a sensible time to have them do _something, _though. He reconsidered his ideas of letting them rut and run at free will but thought better of it. 'Oh the things they could break!' he thought, giving himself an acceptable excuse. It wasn't that he _wanted_ to be with them. Idol hands are the devil's playground, are they not?

"I don't want to be made the enemy here," he looked them both in the eyes, "and I've no intention of ruling this place with an iron fist. What I do ask is that you might show me how things run around here. I didn't receive the most thorough briefing before I came after all."

'Are you happy now Good _Saint_ Cherise? I'm talking to the little vermin like equals- don't be too proud,' he thought harshly.

"Well, I suppose..." hesitated Soisette, playing with the tip ends of her hair, "our walk is first in the afternoon."

'A walk. That sounds reasonable enough,' he assured himself.

-

It was not long before the angel realized that there was nothing reasonable about a walk with two hyperactive children. What began as simple jaunt down the shaded Rue des Noisette would eventually turn into a battle of the wills.

From the moment they stepped out of the gate there began a fierce argument over which direction should be taken. Naturally, Soisette was not content with her sister's decision to go left instead of right. Also just as naturally, she threw a crying fit when Erik vied for Elyssa's way over hers, dirtying her freshly cleaned frock in the process by rolling on the ground in the dirt like a wild animal. This resulted in much fussing and wailing from the rear of their trekking party as Soisette lagged behind in a sour mood. But the ordeal was soon forgotten when a rabbit leapt out of the nearby brush into plain view on the road. Erik cursed the dreaded thing, for as soon as it was spotted his walk became a run... and run became gasping struggle. Nothing he could say or threaten would hold their attention long enough to keep them from getting too far ahead of him. He had never remembered being so dreadfully out of shape, but then again, how in shape can one be living underground for the majority of one's life? The air kept to a suffocating humidity and made walking through the kicked up dust and scalding summer sun even more unpleasant than it was to keep up with the girls' doings.

"Out of the brush! Keep away from the ditch, there's-...Soisette you're entirely too far ahead. Get over here or so help me we will turn right around! And will you put that filthy stick down before y-...didn't I tell you not to-...Soisette!" and so on and so forth.

One incident followed another in rapid succession until he finally gave up the useless affair of keeping them from trying to kill each other. That was not to say that he could keep up with them either. Sometimes the two would disappear as seamlessly as ghosts into the surrounding thickets not to be seen or heard from for minutes at a time. When they would reappear, hair full of twigs, leaves and other various forrest grunge, Erik would wearily greet them, breath labored and sides splitting from running after them, with stern words before they would dart carelessly back in again. Each time their drunken zigzags brought them back onto the road they were covered with more scrapes and scars than he had seen of them last. Their laughter was ceaseless. The road seemed to roll on forever.

"Where the devil are you taking us?" the angel demanded, clawing for breath.

Soisette grabbed hold of him to stabilize his shaky steps and replied,"Oh, just up to the meadow where M. Fourche keeps his sheep. They look so soft to pet..."

"Bloody old sheep! Is that what I nearly went into cardiac arrest for? A flock of mangy sheep? Ahhh no! Not this time. Back to the house with both of you. You're filthy. Besides, you have that psychopathic dog you threw a fit for waiting to be petted. It's the same thing! Blast it, I've had enough animals for one day," he halted in his steps.

"But we've always, ALWAYS wanted to. Won't you please take us Erik? Maman never lets us see the sheep up close," pleaded Elyssa meekly.

"Then she must have good reason," he said, tone authoritarian, placing his hands in a clasp with the two indexes pointing neatly upward, "You must learn to obey your mother. After all, she is _such_ a fair, just, beguiling, refined, intelligent, prepossessing, virtuous, well bred, charming, winsome..."

"Erik? Are you alright?" Elyssa gave a brisk tug at the hem of his saddle brown breeches as he continued to rattle off enraptured adjectives- some not even actual words- in complete daze.

"He looks like Monsieur Jean-Pardeau when he's had too much to drink," giggled Soisette, covering her laughter with one hand.

Soisette gave him a swift shove from the rear which got him to move along but didn't do a thing for his mindless drollery. Steps resistant and oblivious, Erik was pushed on with the little girl's force.

"Come on you great useless thing!" Soisette snorted joyfully, "We don't want to miss them."

"Soisette?" Elyssa interrupted.

The older child gave the angel another nudge foreward, "Yes Lyssie dear?"

"Whatever is _sensuatiousinalatous _supposed to mean?

* * *

_Scowling on your back in the middle of a manure splotched pasture for hours gives one more time to reflect than one knows what to do with. There were plenty of fleeting white clouds, wildflowers blossomed to bursting, little birds frolicking with the lambs, butterflies and all that smut to watch aimlessly while the girls dawdled in the fields close by. But my mind was restless. I was a spirit. It was rather disturbing, I realized, once I had the time to turn it over in my head sufficiently. Disturbing is knowing that you are not really there and that if you were standing there in the flesh you would see nothing of yourself, perhaps only a rustle in the grass that so resembles the blowing of the wind. To know that what you touch you are not really touching, per say. You are nothing to those who cannot see you. Nothing. A microscopic speck floating in the air has more physical significance than you. You **are** nothing. But was that not what I had always pretended to be? A phantom? To not be seen, to not exist? The tables had been so gracefully turned on me alright. This thing called death is not pleasant...and I had awaited it for so long. I had awaited peace at long last..._

* * *

_Neither beauty nor peace could break that barricade of uneasy calm that embalmed me. But two exasperating little girls certainly could._

* * *

_With their sloven heads now adorned with rings of little white flowers, like adorable, 45 pound forrest fairies, they made sure to pounce with extra finesse onto my unprotected chest...both of them...at the same damn time._

* * *

_And of course they had to add insult to injury by cuddling into me as if I were a great, stupid stuffed bear._

* * *

"_When I say 'get off of me' is it as if I'm speaking some sort of foreign language?" I spat, currently unble to move._

* * *

"_We're sorry Erik," said Soisette cheerfully, disregarding my deterrent so willfully that she couldn't help sticking a tiny white flower into my hair, "but you're just so...mushy. Like jam!"_

* * *

_It was true. One of the strangest anomalies of my halfway reincarnation was the way every part of me felt like it was filled with some kind of gooish substance. I would guess it to be the lack of internal organs, to be straightforward. My state very strange indeed. Nevertheless, when was the last time you took someone filled with jam seriously?_

* * *

_Without having to be told again they climbed off of me on their own. I was thoroughly ready to get back to my sour recollections, expecting them to leave a squishy old grouch like me alone to find something more interesting to do. But instead, they nestled into the grass, careful to copy the exact way my arms folded behind my head, on either side of me to look up at the sky. It was late afternoon now- the day caressing the evening before the evening would be embraced by the night. Blueness of sky remained but the sun cloaked itself in a heavier shade. All was still as the passing of the day's heat was heralded by the sultry kiss of a fleeting breeze. For a moment I forgot the little pests, forgot the past, forgot the present. I lived inside my mind._

* * *

"_Maman and Papa never take us anyplace like this..." Soisette's little voice lilted to my ears, breaking my beloved silence again. But the sincerity in her innocent tone moved me, if only for a second._

* * *

"_...I mean not anymore." she finished_

* * *

"_Don't go getting ideas now. Anything that will get you two out of my hair is my pleasure. Just don't expect to be coming back anytime soon," I forewarned bitterly._

* * *

"_I'm not," she sighed, "but 'twas fun. Don't you think?"_

* * *

"_Hmph. Would rather have spent an afternoon like that studying a good batch of musical texts...alone preferably."_

* * *

_Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the child sink back a bit. A more melancholy expression fell over her face. Feeling no more remorse than a rock could, I returned my concentration to the sky._

* * *

_After several moments she piped again, "Erik?" _

* * *

"_What?"_

* * *

"_It's no fun being dead is it?"_

* * *

"_What makes you think I've ever been anything but an angel?"_

* * *

"_The way you're always...the way you are all the time, I guess."_

* * *

"_The way I am all the time? Good lord, you've only known me for a day and a half child!"_

* * *

"_It's the way you talk. There's something...something in the way you talk. It's just not very nice," she answered hesitantly._

* * *

"_I've got more than enough of an excuse to be 'not very nice'. Dealing with you two all day is enough to put anyone over the edge! And what does the way I talk have to do with anything?" I sneered, sounding more childish than the child did._

* * *

"_You sound just like Papa...when he's tired. Mama always says it's not our fault. Most of the time, she says, it's hers. She says Papa's gone through a lot of hurt because of her and sometimes...sometimes she says she brings that hurt back. But she doesn't mean to. That's what makes him so angry. Sometimes she is too, but not as much as him. She says when bad things happen some people can't help but hold it in and it makes them mean"_

* * *

_She paused. Her articulation had stunned me._

* * *

"_Some **people**," Soisette continued, "That's what she said. You had to be a person at some time to be so..."_

"_Perhaps," I interrupted, mildly for the first time that day, "...perhaps it would be best if we headed back before dark." I would have given anything to change the subject. Anything if I had anything to give._

"_But I don't want to leave yet," whined Elyssa._

"_Haven't you had enough of this place already?"_

"_Nope."_

"_And why not?" I turned to the younger._

"_Because I like it here," she pouted, "I want to stay."_

_My nose wrinkled, slightly displacing the mask,"Well how would you feel about me leaving you both here?"_

"_I wouldn't like that at all!" _

"_And why not?" I asked a second time, becoming quite annoyed._

"_Because it wouldn't be the same without you."_

_Through the cheesiness, somehow, my devoted, this angel caught the first remote spark of a kind thing a human being had ever said to him, no matter how quaint it may have been._

* * *

_There was only one thing I could think to say in reply: "Wanna bet?"_


	9. Chapter 9: Somewhat Wrong Seduction

* * *

  


* * *

  


**Chapter 9- Sweet(and Somewhat Wrong) Seduction**

* * *

The girls seemed to come under the most rapid spell of sleep ever documented upon their return to the estate. With Soisette hardly awake, leaning against him as they walked, Erik had to carry Elyssa from the end of the brick wall to the gate and then some. Darkness fell before they could reach the house and the distant roll of thunder could be heard galloping through the now well hidden skies. Upon the sun's setting, Soisette- half asleep and stumbling all over- leaned into him tightly, either from sheer exhaustion or fear of the dark. And so the angel had dragged both on with the last of his aching strength until the gate was reached.

The girls went to sleep without protest. Elyssa slipped easily from his arms and into her own welcoming bed as Soisette was already well dozed off. Erik doffed the room's gas lights with a strange sense of serenity. From the white trimmed bay window the resonence of the moon cast itself lightly over the room. The gentle silence lifted with another nearing rumble. Enough rains had come this season to amount to drown a man.

Erik did not lift his eyes from the window for a considerable while. Not even when Elyssa stirred in her sleep was his concentration on the outside world broken. It wasn't so much what lay outside the window but more-so an internal fixation. There was something his mind was desperately trying to grasp. Something he needed. Something...

A flash of lightening broke the trance of thought and the window's attraction became uninteresting. Without even a sideways glance he left the girls to their sleep. As long as they kept quiet he rathered not to think of them. Just the idea of their trailing him like a mother hen from dawn 'till dusk was in itself exasperating. What few hours he was given to keep his own company he would savor. But how?

It was not until he shut the door- for good measure- behind him that he found just how restless he truly was. Now was not the time for wasting these precious solitary hours. Something stirred within, unnamed and just as sleepless as he was, that ached to be released. But what?

Erik plodded the stairs and across the foyer floor with his usual catlike soundlessness, plotting a way to occupy himself at this hour of the night. It certainly wasn't late. And still there was that something...

In a sudden wild moment he felt something brush across his path, immediately lost all balance and nearly fell. He would have eaten the mansion's hardwood for what could possibly have been the twentieth time if he hadn't have been as alert as he had. Before he could utter a word of surprise a sharp shriek escaped whatever he had nearly tripped over.

"Why you sorry little rat!" Erik spat, regaining a steady balance.

Even in the faint light it could be told that Bijou was not in the slightest amused by this startling encounter. With teeth bared and nape curls on end the poodle gave three or four monstrous barks from the pit of her throat.

Erik laughed...and laughed, and all the while the tiny dog worked herself up into seething, yapping, mouth-lathered ball of fury. Bijou jumped from side to side, seeming to look for some angle of attack as a bizarre battle stance. But as he continued to show no sign of fear or even the slightest of distress- only standing there mocking her failed attempt at ferocity- she backed down and gave a snort of fiery disapproval at his unwillingness to fight. Angel and beast stared each other down, one sizing the other up and certainly not being happy about it. After a short while he circuits in Bijou's walnut sized brain began to burst as Erik's locked gaze refused to fall. It was as if the animal had never encountered, much less submitted to, a display of dominance from a human- or anything- else before. She was infuriated and determined to win this. An evilish sort of grin climbed the unmasked edge of Erik's face. The surge of power struck a cord within him. He couldn't help taunting the beast.

"Who's the master now, fluffy? Who _dare I ask_ it now? That's it. Right here between the eyes. Get a good long look you pestilent little demon because this is the guy who's going to be _**running**__ this house._ You think you can shame me once and expect me to cower like a little girl every time you flash those teeth? Well do I have news for you _sister_: I **own** you! That's right, as long as I'm saving your sorry little half-naked rat hide from having what clumps of fur you've got left washed clear off in that hell of a thunderstorm out there then **I** _own you. _Curl up that lip, yes, just like that! I'm the alpha male around here, _dog_- I was born in a foul mood, died in a foul and I'll be _goddamned _if I haven't changed since!"

And with that he stuck out his chest, left nostril flaring, fists clinched at his sides, and gave a sharp lunge forward. "BACK!" he shouted, "BACK, DOG!"

Bijou was completely dumbfounded. She lept back, tucking her tail between her legs with fear.

"HA!" roared Erik, twelve times louder than before, just as a mighty crack of thunder shook the foundation beneath.

The poodle, now terrified well out of her wits, beat a hasty retreat, but not before letting loose with another sharp bark in his direction, showing off her fangs once again. Bijou then slipped into one of the dark parlor rooms to recover from what was one of the most emotionally scarring experiences of her life- pride injured. Erik showed off his own fanged growl as the final settling word. He was sure the dog would never show her nasty, pinched snout in his presence again. Like a warrior riding off with the spoils of victory, he picked up his arrogant stride and continued on for the right corridor, head held high, ready to lay it down for the next poodle that _dared_ cross his path.

Even more awake than ever after the strenuous battle of wits, Erik noticed immediately the only door that remained estranged from him on the ground floor. It stood well shut as a part of the right wing nearest Raoul's office, unexplored. Curiosity fueling the wandering mind, he simply had to find what it held.

Inside was yet another simple room. The air around smelt heavily of old books though there was no sign of any significant literature lying around. Its layout kept common with the rest of the useless parlors and drawing rooms and tearooms and such. All was common in fact: the high end furnishings, the lavish window tresses, the framed pieces of art worn by the walls- most tasteless in Erik's critical opinion. Pettily, he considered visual art a sham. How could something so one dimensional express something as complex as human emotion? 'It certainly doesn't leave much to imagination. What is there on the canvas is what you get. Ah, but music! Not only does it express emotion, it creates it! Nothing as tangible as "art" could ever capture the spirit the way music can,' he thought surely to himself.

Everything in the room kept to its plain luxury...with the exception of the element that now captivated every ounce of his attention. There it stood sumptuously before him- an old flame. One that had not been soon forgotten.

It was only **the** grandest of grand pianos, outline crisp and striking in what little warm light spread across the room. Just steps away, its splendor lit every candle in his cold, hardened soul with devilish rapture. Oh, to feel the keys underhand again! Was there anything that could subdue that welled up hunger for his dear, sweet music as perfectly as this? And at the perfect moment! Never had an instrument looked so terribly inviting. It beaconed like a siren and possessed like a demon. He simply had to. He _had_..._no_..._choice_...

"_Ciao bella_," Erik murmured, rolling the voice seductively, "Is the night not still young?"

One hand ran smoothly along the piano's highly glossed finnish, completely disregarding the danger of smudging it, for there wasn't a spirit he knew that could leave prints. And to mar it in any way would be the unthinkable. His passionate countenance cast back as a perfect reflection over the inky black coat; it captured the heart as well as the eye. Noiselessly he slid onto the stool without a moment's hesitation. Both eyes still traveled the outlining edges. A great stillness swept over the room as he readied, getting a firm foothold of the large rug under his feet. The mind prepared. The soul savored beautiful anticipation. The hands quivered...

In what seemed a near swoon, Erik delved generously into the silken drop of the keys. They fell like liquid beneath immaterial fingers, creating a sound so sublime that he could hardly bare to go on. The pause wrenched in the gut. Even the brief silence was revolting and stung. But soon enough the inanimate lover took her hold once again of his deprived heart and another string of notes tumbled into the air. They were fervently followed by a continuous lilting stream of sound, underscored by a tone so masterful that it made every fiber of the being tremble and swell. With all his strength- renewed at the touch of the cool, freshly dusted ivory- Erik extracted a powerful bellow of force from the very heart of the instrument. Never had it been taken to by such a skilled hand, nor had it ever been played with such force. He rose nearly to his feet, doused in rapture. The music began to swallow him whole while the spontaneous piece climaxed and fell, seamless in its washing over like pretty sheets of rain.

In the tidal wave of ecstasy he had conjured up only the memory of the score. But now he could feel the enlivened words welling up through his throat as the music progressed. The voice longed to belt free, to pour out every existing emotion still left intact from the wear of all those empty years. He longed to sing. But did he dare?

'No' he fought himself, 'Much too dangerous. You know that.'

But the girls were asleep...dead asleep. And surely he couldn't be heard by any other mortal should the old hag still passed out in the drawing room care to resurrect herself. Curiously, he hadn't even begun to consider the idea that perhaps he couldn't be heard, but the music itself could be. The sight of a player-less piano would be enough to scare the wits out of an unknowing passerby, but luck was on his side, keeping Madame Soileaux gorged on rest. He could only think of singing- mere accompaniment wasn't enough for any feeling _this_ insatiable. If he did not allow himself to join intertwine his music with his voice again he knew he would go mad- _indefinitely_ more out of his mind than he already was. If the girls were to hear him... something within warned that this would be a blunder he could not afford. Something he still did not fully understand.

There was no doubting, though, that his voice was truly dangerous. But if Soisette and Elyssa could sleep through a thunderstorm, surely he wouldn't disturb them. And to have those words on the tongue again! He could ask for nothing more- and this is what he would have.

In a fell swoop the score softened and slowed to a gorgeous light melody before he began its savory Italian lyric...eager beyond words, eyes starry with impassioned bliss:

_Che gelida manina,_

_se la lasci riscaldar._

_Cercar che giova?_

_Al buio non si trova._

His reaching voice carried him finally to his feet. Within his mind played a full orchestra throughout and between. The rain tapping the roof was not drowned out but seemed only to accompany. The music eased on, fanning itself out of the room like a sweet poison and wafting through the open halls. Little did he know he had indeed been heard- though the children remained unawakened:

_Ma per fortuna_

_é una notte di luna,_

_e qui la luna_

_l'abbiamo vicina._

_Aspetti, signorina,_

_le dirò con due parole_

_chi son, e che faccio!_

_come vivo...Vuole?_

Footsteps made not a sound as they approached the room in which the angel played. Cautious. Of course, not that he could sense.

_Chi son? Sono un poeta._

_Che cosa faccio? Scrivo._

_E come vivo? Vivo!_

The more vivacous his singing became the faster the steps drew near and rounded the doorway with great care to not...be...noticed...

_In povertå mia lieta_

_scialo da gran signore_

_rime ed inni d'amore._

_Per sogni e per chimere_

_e per castelli in aria,_

_l'anima ho milionaria!_

Erik's immortal eyes seeped with tears. The aria built him up to the peak of rapture- it panged him a bit to come down again but, oh, was this not the food of love? Of life? Play on! Live on!... or at least pretend to!

But he didn't. He stopped, for even without taking his eyes from the keys he instantly realized that there was someone there watching him.

That someone was a dog.

Bijou had the most peculiar look in her customarily blank eyes that Erik had ever seen on a dog...or any animal for that matter. When he had turned to discover his uninvited audience she had frozen stock still where a paw reached for another step. Both did actually. The sound from the piano quickly died away but Bijou's eyes remained glued to him...and with the same peculiar glint. The moment felt so disturbingly strange that a cold shiver ran down the angel's back.

"Well," he scowled down at her, "what do you want? To sink your grubby little teeth into me again no doubt. I thought I told you to get lost."

Bijou whined. It wasn't a normal whine. Not at all your everyday, "take me out to piss", pathetic dog's whine. But a rollicking, unnatural, and -dare he think it?- _lustful_ sort of whine. As if the way she was looking at him wasn't weirding him out enough.

The poodle inched forward. Her ears relaxed but the glint still remained. Erik grasped the edge of the piano tightly with one hand and edged back as she neared in even closer to the stool at which he sat. He couldn't mistake that expression, no matter how much he wanted to.

She wagged her rat tail admiringly up at him and gave a playful, dainty yip to make sure her "friendly" intentions were clear. It was all very surreal. What had he done to this monster? Erik leaned even further back.

At his forward display of unease Bijou seized the chance to place her front paws on the bench. She whined continuously and grappled its upholstery with her claws, desperate to reach him. He wasn't sure at all how to react to this sudden mood swing into rising canine affection, having had just about as much experience with dogs as he had had with children. Still, something wasn't quite right. This was a dog. It studied him as if he were...well, a potential...

Erik turned back to the keys abruptly, trying not to make eye contact, unlike previously. This was so unbearably silly. She's a dog for crying out loud! All she wanted was to be petted like any normal lap dog, starving for attention- starving with that tender look in her eyes. But was this not same dog that had tried to dismember him earlier? Ah, now he saw it! She was trying to get in close range. Payback. The beast was not as stupid as he thought. And so he devised to ignore her, to return to something that wanted him even more:

_Talor dal mio forziere_

_ruban tutti i gioelli_

_due ladri, gli occhi belli._

At the sheer resonance of his words the dog became empowered and leapt with a single bound onto the bench. He flinched but continued into the piece. As Bijou climbed daringly into his lap her entire body now gave off an uncontrollable quiver; the tongue lolled and her love-struck panting grew even heavier. '_Oh God',_ he thought, now completely and utterly disturbed by the poodle's obvious reaction to his voice, '_what have I done?' _Against his will he continued:

_V'entrar con voi pur ora,_

_ed i miei sogni usati_

His voice began to waiver with anxiety when the dog placed her two front paws awkwardly on his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin the way one would expect a cat to do...never a dog. She would nab him in the throat- he was sure now, but did not want to trigger the bite by stopping.

_e i bei sogni miei,_

_tosto si dileguar..._

Bijou rested herself against him throughout the nervous remainder of the aria. Though tensed, Erik drew on. She kissed the underside of his neck with her rough pink tongue, lavishing every ounce of her admiration though he flinched profusely. This, as you can imagine, made it incredibly difficult to sing. But sing he did until the piece rested itself into silence.

He let out a sigh of relief and waited for the enamored dog to climb off, to return to her more reassuring disposition of detestation toward him. Bijou only whipped her tail as it had been doing in rhythmic time to the music and nuzzled in closer. Once Erik was sure- dismally sure- the fluffy little vermin meant him no harm(though 'thoroughly smitten' would have described with better justice), he ordered her off with every furious protest in the book.

"Bijou! Down! Now! I don't know what your playing at but this has gone far enough!"

The dog only pawed playfully at his chest and gave a delightful little sneeze. Erik snarled, picked her up and dangled her limply at eye level. She turned to dead weight, seeming to melt in his hands.

"You think this is cute? You think I enjoy cute? I've wallowed in enough 'cute' that I am actually choking on my own metaphor trying to describe how nerve-splittingly infernal all the saccharinated fluff I've been forced to endure nearly every waking hour of the last two God-forsaken days! And _you_! You're a bloody _dog_! What do I look like, a German Shepherd?! In all my piss-poor, worthless years I've never seen anything so repulsively stupid or ridiculous looking as _you_ crawl the face of this earth. I've seen things curl into a ball and _die_ at my feet with more charm!"

Bijou reached through his grasp to give him a single dainty lick on the nose. If there ever was a moment Erik had wanted so terribly to fling something out of a nearby window- preferably third story- then this was it. Through gritted teeth he breathed deeply, determined to control himself. That hot blooded anger suppressed itself just as he was ready to snap.

"Alright," he sighed, placing his newfound beloved down on the floor and massaging his aching forehead, "As much it pangs me, somehow I don't think this is going to work out. You understand."

Erik stood, only to be met by the dog's zealous fawning. Bijou rubbed herself like an adoring cat against his legs, following him in the same blissfully peculiar fashion across the room. Nothing about the way she was behaving seemed in any way healthy for her species. He had run out of possible explanations. The only one that remained was obvious... his voice had cast its spell and had done a hell of a job on this little dog.

'_At least it still works on __someone_' thought the angel, morbidly.

...

A streak of lightening followed immediately by a thunderous crash sent both girls tearing across the hall for the only lit bedroom along its darkened corridor. Barefoot and shaking like frightened sheep they slammed against the door-frame and fought briefly to get through at the same time.

"Erik!" they cried, completely hysteric with fear.

Not that it at all flustered the reclined spirit. He sat up, surrounded cozily by a multitude of satin throw pillows wrapped in one of Raoul's best robes, with a steaming cup of Earl Grey in one hand, a smutty old copy of the _Candide, ou l'Optimisme _in the other. Resting contentedly- and rather precariously- between his legs was Bijou, quite smug, now showing no interest whatsoever in the girls.

"Good evening ladies," he said flatly without taking an eye off of the text's stained pages, "What brings you?"

"T-t-the storm. Mama always lets us stay up with her when--" sniveled Soisette.

"Oh but of course!" Erik chortled, "There's nothing I'd love more than having what few seconds of peace I can scrounge up stripped away by your delightful company!"

"Really?!" their faces lit, touched by his unusual display of compassion.

"Ahhhhhhhhnnnno, not really."

And with that, two very disappointed little girls were sent back to their room, so terribly neglected that the angel couldn't help shedding a tear of remorse for their miserable plight.

No, dear reader, not really.

"Builds character m'dear," he told the dog softly, patting her on the head. As for Bijou, she couldn't have agreed more and showed it bluntly by rolling onto her back, awaiting without hesitation the ensuing belly rub.

* * *

**TQ- Muwahahaha! Neither woman nor beast dare resist- insert shameless snort-. So much for a play on the clichéd POTO love scenes...**

**Hope you enjoyed this one- I had to force myself to write the particular(and kind of unnecessarily long) scene THIS early in the story. Just had to though XD The inspiration for this segment came from my own little jack russell terrier, Chloe's infatuation with Hugh Laurie. Don't laugh. I'm serious. Turn on a Tivo'ed episode of House or a YouTube clip from "A Bit of Fry and Laurie" and she goes into this disturbing vegetative state just watching him. She'll actually get this -droooooool- kind of look in her eyes too(like her Mommy starts to look whist listening to excessive amounts of Josh Groban). Try moving her off the couch when he's on tv- she'll growl like she's got rabies. Chloe won't sit there and actually WATCH anything else, though we've tried to get her to settle down long enough to get through a whole Animal Planet show. Nope. Gotta' be Laurie. Inter-species obsessions...creepy. At least we've got some way to keep her out of the garbage and dangerous chemicals while we're out.**

**People think my dogs are weird for some reason.**

**Extra life points if you can guess the opera Erik's aria came from without searching! Not that it's a hard guess but it's one of my favorites for tenors- even though it _is_ a little too late of a work for the particular time setting. Ah well, gorgeous song. If you've never heard it be sure to download the Pavoratti version of "Che Gelida Manina"...have I said too much?**

**(P.S: Pav still rules the world)**


	10. Chapter 10: Haunting Miss Crazy

_**Chapter 10: Haunting Miss Crazy**_

* * *

"What is _that_?"

"What is what?"

"_That_."

"That what?"

"_That,_ on my floor."

"It's not your floor, it's papa's floor."

"That is completely irrelevant!"

"You're completely re-relevant."

"Well as irrelevant as I may be, I'm not wiping up this _same_ spot on the floor again. Guess who's going to be taking care of that?"

"I didn't do that! Elyssa did."

"Did I ask who did it? Get a cloth..."

"Why don't you get your girlfriend to fly down here and fix it since it upsets you so much."

"Because my 'girlfriend', so called, is a twit and apparently doesn't believe in legitimate help... and don't play with your bread that way, you're giving me ulcers!" Erik snarled and, having lost all hope for cooperation, knelt to clean the same area of the floor he had already tended to twice.

Soisette stuck an irreverent tongue out at him while his back was turned, then quickly resumed poking the small, rock-hard loaf on the plate before her. Beside her Elyssa did not say a word. She was determined not to make herself a bother.

"Why do'you have to clean the house?" asked Soisette, not at all interested in joining her sister's oath of silence.

"Because," Erik growled, "if I don't, the hell if anyone else here will."

"So? Why don't you just let the house get dirty. It's not like anyone's going to care."

The angel pointed upward with a flat scowl, "You think?"

Soisette cocked an unconvinced eyebrow, "They sent you down here to...clean our house?"

Erik scrambled back onto his feet. The more he thought about it the more ridiculous it sounded.

"If you want to put it that way..." he huffed, slinging the cloth over his right shoulder.

In the back of his mind he thought about adopting a more lax method of housekeeping. Certainly he didn't care. It wasn't his house. These weren't his kids. In that one morning alone, as it was only around ten and since the children had woken him up no later than four on account of some disturbance downstairs that had turned out to be the dog toppling over some priceless antique, he had halfheartedly repaired a shredded rug, reassembled a dollhouse upon Soisette's threat of screaming, put laundry out to dry, reorganized the girls' war-zone of a room and somehow managed to polish the dusty banister that had been driving him crazy since he got there. Okay, so maybe he did care. He solemnly recalled his previous residence and how, despite the fact that it had been in a dark, damp cellar, he had always kept it well. Almost compulsively well. Everything polished and in its proper place, all balanced; he had always considered himself having impeccable sense of decor and had always prided himself in the magnificent aura of his surroundings. If anything, he had a handsome amount of time on his hands to do so.

There lay the truth: mess bothered him. Immensely. And it was a good thing that he hadn't been put in charge of two particularly messy children...

Soisette carelessly banged her fist against her plate out of boredom, sending the china flying. All three flinched as if struck by lightening when it hit the bare floor and shattered into countless little pieces that in turn flew to farthest reaches of the kitchen.

"Wh-..." Soisette began sheepishly.

"**Don't say it!** Just don't...say..._anything_," he shot back, tensed from head to toe.

* * *

After scouring thoroughly for any remaining shards of china, Erik rose from hands and knees with a sigh of extreme weakness to replace the broom and dusting pan in the nearby cupboard. As instructed, Soisette had kept her mouth perpetually shut throughout his rigorous cleaning regime. Both girls watched obediently from atop their chairs as he had swept every square inch of the floor.

When he had finished, Erik brushed back a stubborn cowlick of hair and leaned heavily on the nearby counter to catch just a moment of rest. It was then that he caught sight of Soisette who looked as if she would burst if she could not say what she so desperately needed to. She waved one hand violently in the air, leaning as far over as the chair would possibly allow.

He only ignored her pleas for permission to speak out of a combination of torture and sheer loathing of that whiny tone that always escaped her. But soon she began to rock her chair back and forth while facing the other direction. It was when Elyssa joined her that he finally withstood all he possibly could.

"HAAALT!" the angel bellowed and to no one's surprised the rocking ceased.

"That's enough! I can't even hear myself think with all the obnoxious-... where in the blazes is that noise coming from?!"

Both girls answered immediately, finally unable to bear their orders: "**The** **door**!"

It was the door in fact. The front door to be accurate. Someone had been knocking loudly for a solid few minutes when Erik finally realized it...with the girls' help of course.

"What are we going to do?" asked Soisette.

"I'll tell you what. We're going to let Madame Souileaux handle it. She's supposed to be 'in charge' and I _know_ the woman can at least open a bloody door."

Soisette hopped down from her chair uneasily, "I don't know Erik. We checked on her this morning. She must have fallen on the floor last night 'cause she's still sleeping...just on the floor now."

"Well I'm not answering it," he huffed, "...but I do wonder..."

* * *

The three made their way to the foyer and scuttled up the staircase to one of the open but shadowed hallways that looked down over the grand area downstairs as the knocking became louder and louder with every strike. The girls huddled together against the railing of the banister where they could get a clear view of the door below while Erik stood leaned against the top rail with his usual devil-may-care air of nonchalantness that he had acquired from being invisible(or perhaps he had always had this attitude).

The knocking stopped and the unlocked door finally opened to reveal a skinny, dark-headed scrap of a woman poised in an over-the-top green velvet dress and gaudy sun bonnet trimmed with plastic birds and equally plastic bunches of grapes. She stood in the doorway with a fabric covered basket in the crook of one arm and a folded white parasol in the other, an idiotic grin spread across her face that hinted that not much was going on in that adorned head of hers.

"Oh not her," Erik growled, planting his face into one hand. The girls shrunk back to make themselves invisible from downstairs.

"Daaaaaaaarlings!" Prissy's shrill voice echoed throughout the house, "Where _could _they have gotten to? Oh darlings!"

The obnoxious woman's heels sounded louder than a broomstick being whacked against the side of a brick wall as she clambered gracelessly into the foyer, peering around for any sign of the girls.

"Soisette! Lyssie! Come now, Aunt Priss has something for you both!" she called, shaking the basket lightly.

The smell of pastry floated up from the basket to the second floor where she was being watched. Elyssa licked her lips and looked pleadingly up at Erik.

"Can we?" she whispered.

"No!" retorted Soisette and the angel in perfect quiet unison.

"She can't know we're here," Soisette hissed, "She'll make us play that stupid game with the dictionary again."

"Hey, I like that game," whined Elyssa almost too loudly. She received a swift shove by her older sister which Erik gratuitously allowed.

She called out again, this time in a nerve-splitting sing-songy voice: "Come out girls, I brought puppets!"

"We've got to get her out of here," said Erik in the most morbidly foreboding of tones, as if he had just witnessed someone's head being sliced off...which he would rather enjoyed...a world more than this anyway.

"I know you're here girls. Playing hide and seek are we? I suppose I'll have to find you then..." Prissy warned loudly.

"But how?" whimpered Soisette, "She's not going to leave until she finds us. She'll think something's wrong."

"That's it!" Erik snapped quietly. An unmistakably evil smile found its way across his face as the idea came to him disturbingly quick.

"Oh she'll think something's wrong..." he laughed maliciously, feeling a twinge of something he hadn't experienced in a while. Something tastefully _bad_.

"Say, ladies, do either of you know anything about..._**ropes**_?"

* * *

Prissy wandered aimlessly through both wide corridors. Room after room yielded nothing as she continued her playful search for the two missing girls. It was the sprinkling of hurried footsteps from upstairs that brought her back to the center of the house where the front door still kept open. The foolish thing scanned the upstairs halls a number of times, looking as bemused as a lost goose. She had already conceded to herself that she wouldn't go upstairs to wander the sinister looking halls if it wasn't necessary. So she called out again.

"Enough is enough ladies," she wrung her hands nervously, "I know you're upstairs...somewhere. You don't want to cause trouble for your dear Auntie, now do you?"

In a sudden deafening crack the front door slammed effortlessly behind her, causing the now startled woman to whip around abruptly. No one was there.

"M-m-my, it's windy out today," she shivered, desperately trying to convince herself.

One of the large curtains looking out to the front lawn fell across the window, somehow having untied itself, and cast half of the open foyer into near pitch darkness. The only light that remained, since all parlor doors were firmly closed, came from the large window on the opposite side.

"Elyssa? Soisette, this isn't funny..." her face turned a ghostly white as she inched back away from the open middle of the mansion's center to the steps leading back to the door.

The other curtain fell and so did complete, swallowing darkness. Blinded, Prissy tripped shakily over the first step then began to crawl backwards for the door. Her heavy, fearful breathing almost drowned out the precise little sound of the front door's locks being slid ever so gently into place.

She gave a short, disconnected scream of fright and immediately pulled herself to her feet to stumble rapidly for the door. Prissy threw herself against the knob to try to jar the door open but only found that it wouldn't budge. She fumbled wildly for the first lock nearest the knob. Stuck. She tried again, almost tearing the lock from the door itself, and was finally able to turn it. With the lock open she expected the door to yield as well. She tried the knob. It didn't. Frantic hands felt for the top bolt. By this time she was banging against the door with all the terrified recklessness of a trapped wild animal.

That was when she realized, to her horror, that there was no way two little girls could reach a lock in the dark that she couldn't even find herself. That was when it sunk in. This was no childish game; some_thing_ after her and there was no escape.

Prissy tore away from the door in shrieking hysterics when something brushed haplessly across her feet. In a single bound she leapt all five descending front steps- an impressive feat with heeled boots- to run screaming like a chicken with its head cut off through the foyer for another way out. Her frantic screaming crescendoed through the corridors as something small with beast-like teeth nipped at her heels. She could hear four sets of claws clicking furiously against the hardwood floor and was sure it was some sort of demon chasing her down.

Her pace quickened when she found the end of the end of the first corridor dead-bolted down. The devilish thing at her heels disappeared when she gave a maniacal bellow of terrified protest and kicked out at it, since the invisible beast had her backed against the end door. The endless flow of screaming then picked up where it left off as she ran back for the foyer. It was as if every circuit in her brain had been turned to a deranged survival mode. She ran without thinking, only to escape whatever terrible thing pursued her in the pitch blackness of this apparently curséd house.

A light had returned to the open lobby and she sought it out as if her life depended upon it. The tiny splinter of illumination came from the first door to the right of the front door. Desperately she attempted to open it fully. But something had been jammed under the knob on the opposite side and she was far too frantic to remove whatever it was that blocked it between the frame and the door itself. And so for a solid few minutes she rammed that door with every ounce of insanity-driven strength she had.

Scuttling noises from the hall above stopped her furious struggle instantly. One eye twitched and a shoulder flinched as she paralyzed herself to listen. With the foyer slightly illuminated by the sunlight from the crack in the front parlor door, she wandered as a slave to her own unconscious out from under the cover of the upstairs hall and back into the open. With knees shaking furiously, ready to give way and run, she wandered out, eyes locked on the banister above from which the noise had come. She stood staring up at the source with jaw dropped, unable to move and hardly able to breathe. Waiting for something to show itself...

And something did.

A shattering screech of pure, unprecedented horror escaped her that no sound on earth could have matched in blood-curdling magnitude as the form of a porcelain doll fell haplessly from the banister. Around its neck was the most perfect specimen of a noose she had ever in her frivolous life beheld. From it the doll hung limply, its sickening glass eyes glistening in the faint light as the rope shook it in the most gut-wrenching manor imaginable.

Prissy scrambled back, still shrieking at the top of her lungs, thoroughly aghast and petrified with revulsion. Fear had finally driven her past her far past senses. The woman began to flail and run in drunken circles when the trance the hideous manifestation cast let her free from its vile grip.

An uproar of shameless laughter finally belted at full force from the upstairs hallway as the nightmare continued to play out below. Elyssa tried to suppress her unsuppressable bout of giggles while Soisette rolled with sides splitting in her grasp across the floor like a deranged hyena, tears streaming down her face from all the laughter. Erik, meanwhile, let the rope dance naturally from one hand while his own cackles escaped from beneath the other. Their prank had worked flawlessly. The annoying woman was probably so terrified out of her wits that she would most likely never return to them. The angel- so called- had never remembered having so much fun with this sort of thing. Never had he had someone to laugh _with_ him. He was blatantly, _admittedly_ enjoying himself.

But the figure that lit up from behind him wasn't laughing. Not in the least.

Cherise gave him a firm kick in the back of the leg, "What on **earth** is wrong with you?!"

He turned to answer her, paused for a few long seconds trying to pass off a straight face but ended up bursting out with snorts laughter yet again.

She folded her arms as he practically doubled over in front of her with no more self control than the six-year-old in a fit of hilarious hysterics at her feet. He let Soisette have the rope who took it in haste to eagerly try her hand at scaring the living daylights out of their victim.

"I c-...I ca-...c-can't!..." he stuttered through bursting cackles and struggles for breath, trying desperately to get a hold of himself.

"I see," Cherise folded her arms curtly, "and I assume you'll be able to explain yourself when you're quite finished acting like a senseless, drunken idiot."

"You don't mean that," he grinned impishly at her, gathering himself at last. A crashing sound came from below which the girls met with a spew of giggles as they watched the product of their torment.

"ABSOLUTELY unacceptable!" Cherise fumed, "I can't even _fathom_ how unreservedly _**dense**_ you would have to be to think this kind of behavior is _remotely-_..."

"Will you calm down," he sneered mockingly, "We were just having a bit of sport is all."

"I would hardly call teaching young children to terrorize people _sport_. And I repeat, what on **earth** is wrong with you?!" her voice rose to the peak of shrillness.

"See, that's the difference between you and I. You've got your moral standards and I've got mine, and I for one don't see anything wrong with it."

"Somehow, I don't think _your_ moral standards are a particularly good basis for anything. Especially not for raising children."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Rather proud of the little vermin myself actually," he mused lightly. Both spirits glanced down at the girls who were still happily inthralled with the trick. Soisette gave an unnaturally evil sounding chortle of delight as Prissy dove across the foyer's great front table for escape. She let the rope slip from her hands; the doll fell and caused an even greater disturbance.

"Such skill," Erik gave a sigh of reverence, "Are you sure they aren't mine? I mean, you'd know if..."

"I can personally guarantee the answer to that question is absolutely not. Though it worries me that you have to ask," shot the dignified lady angel with great distaste, sending him a disciplinary glance out of the corner of her eye.

"Not even the older one?"

"Erik!"

"Alright, alright... but I can assure you, I've got everything under control," he took the Sthone from his pocket and flipped it carelessly into the air to flaunt his composure.

Instead of returning to his hand the spry little thing took an unexpected detour over the side of the banister.

"_**ERIK!!**_" Cherise screamed, shoving him out of the way to quickly throw herself against the top railing to see over to the downstairs floor.

The sound of the little glass stone rattling across the floor could be heard in the following silence. It was accompanied by an abrupt _thump_ of dead weight hitting the floor. The Sthone had plinked directly off of the frantic lady's head. But that certainly wasn't all it did...

The children gasped, pushing into the bars to get a clearer view. When Erik glanced down he found Prissy's obviously unconscious body splayed out in a discomfiting position that rather resembled the crucifix. He gave a flinch, knowing he was well in for it.

* * *

_**TQ-** Aaaand we're back on track. This was a bigger chapter than usual so I split it in two. The other will be published sooner than usual. No, I haven't abandoned ship here if you've noticed this fic's been on a little bit of a hiatus since the start of my bigger project that's been taking up oodles of time. No worries though, I'll be updating this one as regularly as I used to(probably even more since I've got more time to do so) ._

_Thanks for all the patience, Queenie_


	11. Chapter 11: Romancing the Sthone

**_Chapter 11: Romancing the Sthone_**

* * *

"Is she...dead?" asked Soisette.

"Probably," Cherise's voice plunged into deep severity.

"What do you mean she's _**dead**_?!" shouted Erik, pushing all three gawking females aside to lean over the banister, "All the blasted thing did was hit her! How could she be...?"

"I thought I told you to be careful with it!" Cherise cried.

"You did no such thing! I asked you what it was for. What the hell is it supposed to do anyway?!"

"Never-mind_ that!_" she fussed, beginning to lose her temper, something she had never done before. "The Sthone cannot touch living human flesh. It's fatal to anything that isn't divine."

"Why that sounds like a lovely slice of information someone conveniently left out," Erik accused, perching one hand cheekily on his hip.

Cherise wasted no time shooing all three down the hall, "We've no time for this rubbish. Get on!"

They soon found themselves standing in an odd cluster around the lifeless body, Erik and the girls still not completely sure what had just occurred. Cherise felt for a pulse and when it was certain the lady was undeniably stone cold the angel picked up the Sthone and shoved it into her charge's hands.

"Where do you expect me to put this?" he complained, secretly nervous of anything that could kill just by touching it.

"I'll tell you where to put it..." she muttered crossly under her breath. Cherise had always considered herself a patient soul. Never had anyone or anything been able to rub her against the grain quite the way he could. Impudent, cocky, arrogant...what's more, he couldn't care less about the upshot of his rash actions. Never- and she had been in existence for hundreds upon hundreds of years- had she witnessed anyone as cold or without the faintest spark of compassion as he.

"W-what are we going to do?" Elyssa looked up at her from where she clung to the side of Erik's leg. There was a unmistakable hint of fear in the child's eyes; she could not turn to where the woman she had been previously terrorizing lay.

"_We're_ not going to do anything, dear," the lady angel replied. She then turned to Erik, expression stern and overbearing. "You are," she ordered simply.

He shot her a puzzled glance. Certainly he couldn't be held accountable for an accident he was not fully aware of. Surely there was nothing to reverse it...or was there?

Cherise gave a longwinded sigh in return. It was almost as if she did not look forward to what had to be explained next. Soisette busied herself in the midst of all this by nudging their lifeless subject with her foot to see if she really truly was dead. Her sister flinched each time the body moved with force.

"You were the keeper of Sthone at the time of death- you have the ability to reverse its effect..." Cherise proceeded calmly.

"Why would I want to do that? At least she's finally shut up," he growled.

It took one glance at her severe expression to get the impression that he was the only one who needed to keep his mouth shut.

Cherise folded her arms and sighed wearily again, "The divine breath...that should do it."

"Wait. What?" Erik startled.

Everyone waited stock still for Cherise to explain. The clicking of claws sounded from an adjacent corridor. Shortly after, the tiny white dog appeared from the pitch darkness of the hall with tongue lolling. She had enjoyed the chase. Bijou joined the solemn party that surrounded the victim of their cruel joke, first by sniffing the body then disregarding it bluntly to beg Erik to hold her.

Cherise couldn't help herself. She laughed, popping him cutely on the nose with one finger(at which he winced and scowled). "What a splendid opportunity to make use of that amorous little nature of yours...I certainly hope you're a good kisser," she teased, sounding much too devilish to be an angel.

"What?!" he repeated, stepping back from her warily, this time much louder.

"I think you know exactly _what_. It's simple really. All you must do is...quite literally...breathe the life back into her. The poor dear will be just fine."

Soisette and Elyssa squealed with giddy disgust, finally understanding what she meant.

"Ugh! Why can't you do it?" he exclaimed, making a face more contorted and immature than the children's.

At this indignant suggestion Cherise stuck a single index finger firmly beneath the sensitive underside of his chin, jabbing it higher and higher at the end of each accent to her threats, "Because dropping the Sthone was your idea...because you're glib and inexperienced...and because I'll _**pummel you**__** if you don't!**_"

He gulped, hardly able to, with head checked high enough to face the ceiling. And then she threw him backward, giving a ditzy, bubbly giggle that he translated as nothing less than sadistic.

Shuddering with distaste, he glanced down at the body then back at his blonde oppressor. Dare he refuse her? By far he was the bigger, stronger being and here he was allowing her to push him around like the adorable slave-driver she was. He was dead...was there anything more she could do to him? That was exactly what he didn't want to find out.

"Alright, alright!" he shooed everyone back, kneeling down to where the lifeless woman's head rested. Even the dog relented upon sensing his agitation. Prissy's eyes were as large as brown dotted ostrich eggs, glazed over so that the only slit of sunlight that made the anything visible refracted off of them with a slimy, unnatural sheen. The neck had given way beneath the weight of the head and so that it drooped slightly to the side. The icing on the cake was her frozen expression of horror, complete with jaw hanging open, nightmarish and limp. With nose wrinkled and lips stretched across clinched teeth in a revolted grimace, Erik took the pair of black leather gloves from the tight waist side of his breeches, slipped them on and gingerly repositioned the woman's head to where she "looked" upward. The sound of her neck crackling just a bit as it turned was disgusting enough without her rheumy eyes rolling almost completely back into the skull.

"Yeesh," he uttered quietly, hesitating to position the jaw to where it wasn't so dislocated. He admitted that looking in the mirror maskless topped this sort of thing hands down, 'But damn!' he thought, 'Given the circumstance this certainly is close.'

He could hear the girls hovering behind him, trying to force down jeers and snorts of laughter. Even the dog seemed to mock him with that infuriating toothy grin she always had on.

Erik turned to Cherise with a sheepish regard, "And you're _positive_ this is going to work."

"Absatively, love" she cooed with a darling little wink, flittering her hand in the dead woman's direction.

'Oh how could I ever oppose that sort of persuasion?' thought he in contempt.

Placing both hands firmly against the floor, Erik closed his eyes and leaned closer to Prissy's unflinching face. One could say he looked exactly like a child whose parents were forcing him to eat something so foul that he felt he would gag any minute. In fact, he caught himself from doing just that at least four times. Hoping a slow approach would somehow ease the nauseating bliss of the moment, he took to leaning in centimeter by unwilling centimeter. His stomach churned and he squinted his eyes tighter as the stagnant breath smell from Prissy's mouth met him squarely. By now he looked very much like a gargoyle with a very bad case of backwards trismus.

Erik tore a final horrified sideways glance to where the prim lady angel stood over him and whimpered pitifully. Her urging smile was imposing enough to turn him back to his subject.

His mouth quivered as he met the freshly deceased woman's lips from the side. They were unpleasantly damp like the skin of a raw fish, making the tiny muscle below his left eye flinch sporadically. Trying not to touch her mouth any closer than he had to, he inhaled then forced the breath down her throat. Erik tore away for a moment after to wipe the cold saliva from his face with compulsive vigor against his sleeve.

The children, of course, cackled with grisly delight at the rather awkward display of chivalry. He wanted to shout something along the lines of 'locking them both in the upstairs armoire with the rest of the rats and cockroaches' at them but was rudely interrupted.

"_**Again**_ s'il vous plait," ordered Cherise. She received his infamous death-stare in return but even so, he was again reduced to obedience.

Inflating himself with as much air as he possibly could, Erik met the cold woman's mouth again, this time with a bit more force. It was better, he found, to get it over with than to fuss. Still, this made it no less nauseating.

Prissy's lungs could be seen filling up from the outside as her chest raised with the blast of ethereal oxygen. The color returned to her face and hands in the blink of an eye. It was no real surprise, though, that the two children, plus Erik, leapt back a few feet all at once when the woman rose up from the floor, shrieking with the same terror that she had been before her death. She tore about blindly in her frightened state. It was as if the Sthone had never hit her.

Erik backed into Cherise, spitting and choking and gaging like a poisoned wild animal.

"There, now don't you feel better about yourself?" she chortled, licking her fingers and smoothing back his ruffled hair with the same care of a nervous mother.

He only snarled and pushed her back, watching Prissy lash around as if something were still after her and stepping lightly out of her way when she stumbled in his direction, "You always know _precisely_ what to say, don't you?"

It then became unavoidably obvious to the maddened woman practically foaming at the mouth in the center of the foyer that the two little girls for whom she had be desperately searching for earlier were standing before her, mouths agape. They had not yet recovered from the sight of the previously deceased coming back to life.

"You!" she pointed a tremorring finger at them after freezing from her hysterics.

"Get away from me!" Prissy hissed and spat backing away from the little girls in a messy stumble, "Get away from me you little demons! That's what you are...This house...this house has the devil upon it, I swear it! This place is possessed! Possessed! Devil children...devil children..._stay __**back**_!"

The saliva seethed from her gritted teeth and the dark hairs on head seemed to fly everywhere and stand on end. Erik admitted to himself that the lady was just a bit more frightening than she usually was(not to mention disturbed beyond all recognition), but the children seemed unfazed. Expertly they stood to face her. Their expressions shone white in the sickly light that shone through the slightly opened door. Prissy stood trembling without another word for a moment or two- the shock catching up to her.

A squalling cry that could described as a mix of anguish, rage and unbridled fear burst from her throat as her feet finally caught up with what her mind was registering. Prissy turned in a wild scramble and ran, arms still flailing above her, in the other direction, rabidly plummeting into the front door on her way out. It gave way on its hinges. She was finally free from that madhouse and those accursed little children.

The pair of angels and pair of girls stared on through the splintered wood of the door without a word to each other, unable to tear their eyes away from the scene. In ludicrous coincidence, Madame Fourche had come on the same late morning to the Chagny estate to deliver an innocent basket of fruit to her neighbors' dear, sweet children. The raving Mademoiselle Bonnet nearly piled into the woman as she was climbing the first step to the doorway.

Prissy paused a moment to recognize the familiar face, then promptly resumed screaming and making the Sign of the Cross over and over again.

"That house will consume your soul! It's Satin's dwelling...the root of all evil! Evil!" she shook her fist.

Completely bemused, Madame Fourshe watched curiously as the tormented visitor to the mansion barreled for the the gate. Long after she disappeared behind the front walls in a perpetual cloud of dust Prissy could be heard in the distance careening down the Rue des Noisette. Frailly, Madame Fourche leaned to see inside the doorway of the house without taking another step. The basket of fruit trembled in her hand. There had to be a reason behind her admittedly shallow acquaintance's demented outburst...for something as violent as the reaction she had just witnessed couldn't be unfounded. Allouette Fourche was not known to practice superstition. When after a short time nothing appeared in the doorway she pursed her lips with the greatest of chagrin.

"What a strange person..." she observed aloud, shaking her head beneath her purple sunbonnet and looking back in utterly disturbed confusion in the direction that the slightly younger, foolish woman had made off.

But when a ripe green apple began to float on its own from its resting spot in the basket to the air above, Madame Fourche needed no more convincing than an alcoholic would to have another glass. With a gasp she threw the goods, hoping it would be a reasonable sacrifice to the invisible demon, and made an even faster break than Prissy had for the courtyard's entrance gate.

Erik laughed from the gut at the woman's screeching which was the most exquisite impersonation of a peacock's call he had ever heard. After gloatingly tearing into the flesh of the apple, he turned smoothly on his heels in mid chew to find Cherise with that same sour, disappointed look across her otherwise comely countenance.

"You disgust me. Do you know that?" she tapped her foot loudly as the girls spilled out from the doorway behind them, doubling over with squeals of laughter.

"Heh-heh, do I still have it or what?" Erik disregarded her and stole another sloppy bite.

"Or _what_ is more like it."

--

_**TQ-**_ Me thinks we've maxed out on a whole new realm of "ew" in this chapter. Geez /shudders\, sorry you guys had to read that. The question is... can it get any worse?

So enlighten me: review if it suits ya!


	12. Chapter 12: Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

_**TQ-**_ I do so enjoy making shameless movie references that have absolutely nothing to do with anything whenever the chance arises :D It's the end of the week- creativity has begun to run sparse. I'm not above recycling lines from some of my favorite-est films. There are two in here...I guess three if you count the title.

And look at aaaall the bolding! It's like a bolding fiesta...

Hope you enjoy this one guys. We're about to get a little more serious(and into something that actually contributes a bit o' friction to our plot! "What plot? There's a plot somewhere in this mess?" I hear you say) within the next chapter.

Busy making messy plot-lines look somewhat delicious, Soléne

* * *

**Chapter 12: Gentlemen Prefer Blondes**

* * *

"_The people around here certainly have a strong fetish for baskets of food," I said to myself, polishing off the last of the bichon au citron from one of the ladies' peace offerings whilst so comfortably sprawled out across the white silk fabric of a priceless antique Bourgogne walnut canapé- feet perched up on the exquisitely carved end arm, of course. _

_Cherise seemed vaguely upset._

"_You haven't listened to a **word** I've said...not a **word**!" she fumed. I had to admit, she was a sight to behold when she got to being furious enough. It looked as if she were ready to explode at any moment and take the rest of the universe along with her._

_My intuitive sense of the female creature knew just the way to handle this._

"_Bonbon?" I offered casually. Three boxes of them lay in a massacred pile of wrappers and sullied decorative ribbons and packaging atop my chest. There were a few tiny delicacies left, most half eaten. I hate almonds you know._

_Her scowl sank lower, "I was going to say I expect better of you but then I thought you may consider it an insult of your ingenious aptitude for lowering expectations."_

"_I wouldn't call it **ingenious**," I quipped, popping the last of the edible chocolates upward and into my mouth, "But then again... that's but one subject."_

"_Did you always eat like a pregnant sow?" she shot back, massaging her temples with mounting irritation._

_I gave the rhetoric a few seconds of intense thought before shrugging it off, "No, not really. I was never a fan of food shopping and there was never much lying about the opera anyway. You might say my connoisseurship is rather newly acquired. Oh well, je mangerai à la vie."_

_She snatched up one of the baskets to survey its bleak remnants and huffed, "Be that as it may I will not allow you to lounge about exhibiting your 'connoisseurship' until it suits you otherwise. Let me remind you that I've been watching the children for you all afternoon." _

_And then she shook the infernal thing in my face. It was rather irritating._

"_You volunteered!" I spat, giving the basket a shove out of my way,"If you're going to offer to help then it would behoove you not to bitch about it so. Can't you see I'm exhausted?"_

_Giving my best impression of a dramatic swoon, leaning my upper half backwards like a dead animal over the arm of the canapé with forearm gracefully over my eyes did nothing for her mood. For a fleeting moment I took it that she was more than ready to have a go at me with the sturdy wicker basket in her hand. Instead she composed herself in a series of deep inhales and exhales before carrying on edgily._

"_Look, I took time out of my busy schedule and promised the girls I would play with them for a while because it's **quite** obvious that you aren't capable of occupying them in a civilized, non-sadistic manner," she retorted through clinched teeth. _

_I gave a malicious smirk, wondering to myself what it would take to push such a sparkly, vacuous twit over the edge,"Well la-ti-da. Aren't you the only one with plans that matter around here! I haven't had a break from the little cretins for going on two days now. Wouldn't it be nice if someone did something for me without making a scene for a change?"_

"_We both know you only resent them out of spite, Erik, don't bother to deny it. What's more, you refuse to admit that you really do enjoy their company just as much as I do..."_

_I simply had to cut in, being especially careful to keep my tone as obtuse as possible, "And yet I'm still hearing complaints. If you're so fond of the girls then why is it that I'm getting the blunt end of a rant session for letting you take care of them for a couple of hours?"_

"_Because I'm not the one with the problem here," she seethed, "I'm not their guardian- you are! It's **your** responsibility to-"_

"_Here we go. The old 'liability' shtick," I grumbled under my breath._

"_I'm sorry, did you say something?" Cherise glowered down at me from above, shadow casting ominously from the front parlor window's light behind her. _

_I only reclined further back into the upholstery and jeered, "Now don't start with me. Must everything I say be up for..."_

"_Oh **I'll** **start**!" she squawked, cutting through my sentence abruptly with sharpened tongue._

_The only useless thought running through my mind at that point was that Madame Fourche's peacock call had been miserably bested. And with that thought began the breakdown process... miserably._

"_You never appreciate anything I do for you!" Cherise choked, "Unlike you, I have real liabilities I have to deal with that make your little child's-play assignment look as if a brain damaged chimpanzee could handle it! There is no earthly way you could possibly **fathom** everything I have to do on a regular basis while at my post. I even **invented** the personal maneuverable music stand for the flying lyre player. I invented it! And what have you done, Erik? Nothing. You've done nothing! **Nothing**!"_

_If I had thought she was on the verge of spontaneous combustion earlier I was thoroughly convinced now, but still thought nothing of it. There was nothing she could do to scare me. I was certain._

"_Hey! I was that one who saved that woman's life...I was the one who actually had to TOUCH the repulsive thing. Who knows what all sorts of **diseases** she may have been carrying," I shuddered, "I could have contracted... God, I don't know!...scurvy for all you care."_

"_Oh you poor suffering baby!" she snarled, tone escalating until it reached a practical scream,"The only thing repulsive around here is that petulant attitude of yours. Honestly Erik, I've never heard such incredulously ball-less whining in all my days!"_

_I had no idea, my devoted, that anything or anyone could possibly be that shrill._

"_You're shouting. There's no need to shout," I faced her hysterics calmly with nose upturned in a calm, collected snub. "At least I can get through an hour with the children without raving like a crazy person."_

_The earth, I swear...it froze underneath us. _

"_**What** did you just call me?" _

_Cherise's eyes blazed with a fire the flames of hell, I'm sure, would have submitted to. This was the same gentle creature who had greeted me with that same morbidly sweet smile at the pearly gates, was this not? It was difficult to tell by then._

"_Che cosa?" perked I(rather adorably in my opinion), "Io sono spiacente, appena li ho denominati pazzeschi?"_

_I made a note for future reference that women do not respond to Italian any better than they would any other language when they are violently enraged. It just happened to be exactly the response I was looking for here._

_Her voice descended- frighteningly- into a rumbling tone that one would expect a starving lioness to use to speak to her prey._

"_Call me crazy...**one more time**."_

_There was a pause. An elegant, elegant pause that let her glare come awfully close to disintegrating me into bits. A chord had been struck._

"_Crrrazy..." I chortled in my best falsetto, rolling that 'r' as irreverently as anyone could roll anything._

_This was, apparently, the final straw for our dear Saint Cherise. She did not lend me another word, only yanked me up in a choking grip by the back of the collar then dragged me effortlessly out of my resting place. I protested loudly as we rounded the doorway out of the room and began to climb the left stairwell. My heels dug into each step but were made to yield to her force. It was futile to contend with her, a fair judgement that she was good bit stronger than I._

_Cherise made certain to whip me into the wall of the doorway as brutally as possible as we entered the first bedroom on the left wing hall at a breakneck pace. I stopped carrying on with my threats and indignities when she opened the room's far end glass doors, revealing one of the many open balconies that jutted out from the side of the mansion, to drag me out and over the side of the balustrade. Hanging limp by the coat collar over a two-story drop by the hand of a lady who looked as if she couldn't lift a loaf of bread worried me for a moment. Then I remembered, 'I can float damn-it!' and was smug about this._

"_What are you going to do? Drop me?" I laughed. "You'll have to be a little more creative than that."_

"_As a higher ranking official in the Divine Court of Order I am hereby endowed by holy statute the inarguable power to override any jurisdiction and-or the Higher Capabilities of any lower ranking official," she droned, eyes only open a slit from what I noticed over my shoulder._

"_Quoi?"_

"_Goodbye monsieur."_

_And then she dropped me._

* * *

_After finding the front door steadily locked, a monsterous wooden guard unmovable and employed exclusively to laugh in my face(Cherise had made quick work of 'poofing' up a new door out of thin air after Prissy had dismantled the previous one), I was made to limp- no, **crawl**- all the way around to the back of the mansion. Have you ever been run over by twelve six-horse broughams filled with fat Left-Bank Parisians on a summer's day when the mortar is melting off of the buildings? Neither have I, but I can imagine the way I felt after that two-story drop was very similar in severity. Every invisible nerve ached. I was like one enormous, inflamed bruise, but there was no "physical" sign to account for the pain. Alas, there is no way to describe it to a mortal._

_To my luck- is there such a thing?- the rear kitchen door was unlocked. After pulling myself up with the knob for support I picked out a few painful thorns from the bush into which I had fallen from various places(including a few places I wish not to describe), popped my neck back into place, replaced the mask that hung dangerously off of my face(I've no idea how it survived the fall) and stumbled into the kitchen. When I first stepped onto the checkered floor my downward gaze caught the egg at my feet a little late. It cracked and splattered into a slimy puddle of shell and goo._

_This was only a minor irritation. Nothing prepared me for what I would raise my glance to find._

_My eyes worked their way slowly upward. On the floor before me appeared a floor that did not appear to be a floor at all. It was covered from front to back door with piles of strewn white sugar, puddles-no, **oceans**- of liquids of various colors and consistencies, fallen fruit from a shattered bowl whose sharded remains swam in what looked to be some sort of bread pudding that had been left out and most of all- flower. Flower dusted over everything. Just inches more above revealed the walls looking no less horrendous with the same foul materials. A ripe tomato or two slid down from the fresh white wallpapering through a slime of what could have passed off as beef stew- either that or the contents of a cow's stomach. Special care had been taken to paint the ceilings with substances that were certain to stay up there, thick, dripping, and high out of reach._

_And then I discovered the pièce de résistance: two sweet little girls covered from head to toe with even more various liquids, icings, crumbs and most of all flour, standing atop the war-zone that may or may not have once been a kitchen counter. They were both perfectly, seamlessly covered with flour. Hair, faces, clothes, grubby bare feet...all doused in the white powder of inevitable misery. Soisette was smearing a massive handful of chocolate cake into her sister's face when I had barged in on their merrymaking._

_My head- the one filled with gelatinous mush- throbbed along with the rest of me. I found my fists clinched at my sides. The girls only watched me, frozen stiff in their evil doings like some sort of demented still-life of a disgruntled artist's worst nightmare._

"_Must...not...kill...Must...not...kill..."_


	13. Chapter 13: Tho' Not Deserving

_**TQ-**_ Lucky number 13, guys; hope this one puts a little spin in our course. You didn't think it would stay all fluff for long did you? For shame.

As you may have noticed I've been behind on updating lately. Hopefully things will calm down soon enough to where I'm not so pressed. In the meantime, enjoy this labor of love I finnished the majority of instead of watching the opening cerimonies of the Olypics. God, I feel so un-American right now...

Unrelated note ahead: I'm auditioning to be in a production of Little Women on Tuesday! I'll be singing "You'll Never Walk Alone" from Carousel(one of my favorite solo pieces of all time) and cold reading from the script. Oh lawdy, no monologues? What _**IS**_ the world coming to?!

-Love you all... and your beautiful, beautiful comments: _Soléne_

* * *

**Chapter 13: Tho' Not Deserving**

* * *

_April 16, 1877_

_Four Days Later_

_A Small Flat on the Outskirts of the Marais: Paris, France_

Monsieur Gounod took a single cigar from a small tin box on the desk before him. He sampled its scent- pungent, exotic, and numbing- before lighting it up, defeating his own reluctance for instant gratification. The dank room's gut of darkness as well as its shadowy tapered edges devoured all other light other than what precious beams of sunlight struggled in, finding themselves trapped, nearly suffocated, and the ember at the end of the cigar. It was the very last of them. It would be the last for a while... unless something was to be done about his financial impairment.

"Tell me Cochepaille," his throat snarled, "how long has it been?"

The considerably spindlier man who stood to face the tiger unarmed within its pen spoke with haste. The beast, he sensed, was hungry. For flesh? Maybe. It was never entirely possible to tell by the eyes or the expression or the voice or the simple outward nature of the disposition. This strange, weak fellow was careful still not to express his fear- for it is documented, or at the least _said_ if otherwise, that predators can smell it. They seek it. The scent of fear is the sign that the fruit is ripe. It is the silent prompt that the victim is fresh and ready for slaughter.

"Two days, monsieur, since that private party made the offer on the property and its facilities. We- well, Brusseu and I- have reason to believe that it was the Baronnie Luc de Robert at the end of the deal, most probably interested in expanding his own factory division. The papers we were able to make out from the window were addressed from a residence on the Place des Invalides."

That greasy baritone voice rattled once again through the space between the two men, "Idiots...If it had been the Baronnie the papers would have already been signed over. The offer would not still stand. The price would not exceptionally significant to anyone of sizable nobility. No, that is not it. I knew your little expedition would be a waste."

Clouds of smoke laced the air. Gounod pivoted his chair, creating a horrendous noise bearing an odd, dissonant resemblance to an animal having its throat ripped out.

"I do not wish to concern myself with dabblers from the southern bank, of whatever rank and file they may be, who have made passes at the property I have made it my utmost priority..."

A savoring inhale then took precedence over what he was saying.

"...to purchase. You see there are times to consider these sorts of things; addresses, rivals and so on and so forth. And then there are times in which a man finds himself in need of something a bit more _solid_ to gnaw on. "

Brisk waves of electric pulse traveled down the man called Cochepaille's spine. Nothing pleasant ever followed the tone his associate was using. He was no longer certain what to call this man. Gounod was not a friend, not an ally, not a business partner, not an employer- _master_ would have suited him all the better.

"But who am I to judge the intentions and aspirations of others? The plan I've laid out to establish my weaponry factory is mere dabble itself," said Gounod, his voice seeming to saunter in an easy step after step, as if words were foot-beats. "And yet it is all too necessary. I fear if I cannot obtain the facility that the year of bottom-feeding I've done will amount to less than what this business started with. Nothing has fallen permanently into place yet, but there isn't much time left. Preparations must be made- preparations of the proper resources..."

With a casual air, Gounod slid the two small play-figurines- tin children's toys which both looked to be ancient- into opposing positions on the desk before him. Special care was taken to place them in an exact stance, the way war strategies are planned out and aligned on large tables with little metal men and their weapons before real guns were fired and real lives were lost. Then his gaze cast up again quickly, lowered between the two figures, catching his nimbler associate off guard.

"You'll need more information then," Cochepaille balked before insisting. "Would it be of any help for us to find the exact amount of our opposition's settlement?"

"I just gave you my stance on the matter and there isn't a way in the world to make myself any clearer without shoving a goddamn magnifying glass down my throat. If it would be to your advantage I will repeat my emphasis in layman's terms: Preparations...must be made. How are non-fanciful business ventures usually prepared for? With physical, concrete initiative. What is universally concrete? Money. _Money_ is much more tangible than drabble. And what I need..."

Gounod paused quite effectively again, drawing in smoke as he rapped the desktop with heavy fingertips.

"Is money. It may as well be the only thing in this world without substitute. Once I have the 480,000 francs in hand then, and only then can we consider competition. There must, at the very least, be _someone_ observing the issues at hand before placing an entire fortune on the line for a solitary building."

'We', of course, meant himself in this instance. In every instance. Whether or not this sort of deceptive flattery was acknowledged with spite, it was always accepted. Gounod was never questioned, never opposed and certainly never accused of manipulating his words. He was only served and worshiped like an all-seeing god with the power to destroy all that precious to a man.

"A fortune, may I remind you, that is not in our hands as of yet."

Cochepaille suddenly found it difficult to match the other man's eyes' fixation upon his own. A subordinate wolf displaying his meager rank to a superior, he immediately turned his face to the ground. Looking straight into this beast's line of red-tinted perception was bound to be a death sentence, for the eyes showed then, in that precise moment, what the body had been trained not to convey. Fear.

The eyes, you see, can never lie. Never to those of an expert.

The meeker man swallowed hard, shuffled his feat then answered to his 'master's' hiss, "That was what I had come this evening to ask of you, monsieur. Speaking as your financial advisor I feel pressed to tell you that..."

"Look at me," Gounod's order made the floor them tremble; despite it's lack of ferocity in volume, it made its point clear with sheer, slicing bite. A terrible expression came to surface across his visage when Cochepaille obliged his request out of pure nervous shock. The smaller man became quite rigid all at once. Breath caught in his throat along with the surrounding shroud of smoke.

"I know what you have come to tell me. Consider yourself spared the extra breath, M. Montagnue. I _know_ my own status. I _know_ that I've barely enough to support the lifestyle that I am drowning in. I _know_. What I also know is this: de Chagny cannot and will not be waited upon any longer. It is a difficult choice to make, but I fear it is one that must be made this instant."

Cochepaille remained shakily puzzled, "I do not believe you have a choice. If you want his contribution there is nothing you can do but wait."

"Or so it may seem," he grinned. "But I am convinced that there is more than one way out of this innocent trap he has us hooked into. Raoul has only begun his little game and I know the old dog well enough to beat him at it squarely."

Gounod leaned in to adjust the tin figures again. This time they were brought even closer together until the tips of their painted silver bayonets touched. They were ready for combat.

"And how will you do this? If he his toying with commitment to your cause then there is no reason to look to him for support any further. In my honest opinion he isn't worth your time. What would become of us if a prominent noble such as he were to find out about your other _dealings..._With all due respect, they may have been necessary but that will be no excuse for him to turn you in. He wouldn't hesitate, monsieur, no matter how long you've kept up this 'mutual' friendship. It would be within everyone's best interest to drop any further connections with the man."

At this, Gounod threw back his head and gasped in violent outrage, "Why Cochepaille! That is no way to speak behind the back of an old friend. Such a kind and deliberate benefactor deserves nothing less than our utmost respect in the matter of his most gracious offering of donation. I do not intend to harass my colleague any further. There are standards to be upheld if I am ever to reclaim my status from this pit I'm in. I have his trust after all, a very fragile thing in a man who has experienced all that he has. If there is any value to be had from him it will take great care to _extract_ it. Our current beggar's method has not been successful so far. It is time to move on to something a little more effective."

"So what are you suggesting we do? What value is he to you then, even now when he is so bluntly refusing to take you seriously?"

"It isn't Raoul whom I find to be the source of value..."

Forgetting himself to impatience, even in the face of danger- a careless fool unarmed and at the mercy of the tiger's salivating jowls-, Cochepaille snapped, "Then _**what**_?"

There was a long and terrible pause. And then there was a bellow, a smiting rasp that belted nearly below all register of sound, and it was a thousand times more terrible: "_The Ouiseaux_."

After his simple answer the brute casually took a paper from one of his side drawers and the ink pen from the far end of the desk top as if what he had said had never been mentioned at all.

The other man was left nothing short of aghast.

Once recovered from the initial realization, Cochepaille began to stutter helplessly, losing all control over his own self-confidence. Nothing he had expected could have prepared him for this. He knew exactly the crime of which his keeper suggested in two simple words. The line had been crossed; there was no turning back.

"Oh dear _**God**_... Gounod, this cannot be! I would not have been surprised if you had asked me to steal or gamble for you, but _this_...this cannot be done. You've known this man for years. You say you have his trust. Wait for his return if you must have his money...not _this_. He will give you the what you need, possibly more for your patience but you _must_ have patience. Forgive me monsieur but you are making a terrible mistake!"

The predator tore across the desk, throwing the two tin mementos in his path over the edge of the table and scattering paper in all directions, to take hold of Cochepaille's waistcoat lapels, "I swore I would never make another mistake so long as I shall breathe the sweet, _sweet_ air of God's green earth."

Blood began to drip from one corner of his mouth clenched tight in the midst of rage. In this ravenous state Gounod caught his own tongue between his teeth and refused to release it, even through the pain. Cochepaille avoided the impulse to strike out for release, promising himself that this was no different from any of the other times Gounod lost his temper. There was no use for action otherwise, it could be a fatal move. And so he kept very still, even in his terror.

"Never again. Not after the hells I've been made to wallow at the hands of my own carelessness. Not after all I've lost," Gounod spat, bringing his inwardly terrified associate eye to eye with him. "I will not give up this chance to live comfortably again. Not for anything, not for Raoul...and certainly not for his petulant little beasts."

It was then explicitly clear to Cochepaille that his 'master' was losing much more than his temper. The distraught man's mind was the sole victim of the madness brought upon by years of wealth followed by sudden, ravaging financial strife. His madness still was no excuse.

The spindly accountant was more than relieved when the tiger relinquished its grip, throwing him back a few steps as he did, and settled back down to its note writing with only a furious growl in Cochepaille's direction. As Gonoud sunk back into a conscious state of mind he grimaced at the realization of his self-inflicted wound. It was bizarre, the way calm could engulf him after such a barbaric rampage had taken hold of his entire bearing.

Spared once, there was no way for the shaken accountant to tell if this fat tyrant before him had the capacity for further mercy.

Even still Cochepaille would stand to oppose him for the first time in his gutless career. This time he would stand to challenge the beast, for in secret he prayed that this fight for justice would somehow save his soul.

"Listen to me monsieur," his voice wavered to match the quiver of his knees, "If you do this there will be no need for the money...for the building...for anything you've built your life around! You are an intelligent man; tell me you realize that this will only lead to arrest. There is so much at stake- no way to come out unscathed. All will be lost!"

Gounod's anger seemed to fall away(to disguise itself, rather). He looked up from his writing, revealing an expression of manic bliss.

"You distrust my calculations?"

"I should say so!"

"Then you have not _considered_," he accented with an abrupt, violent dotting of pen against paper, "that I have had this planned out since we began our ridiculous venture, from tip to tail. Foolproof...fail-proof...all there is to be done is to have it carried out. I had every detail set into position in advance should this course of action need be taken. The sitter I suggested Raoul hire: deliberately incompetent. The precise time for a friendly, formal letter to arrive at their temporary residence in London: calculated with hair-splicing accuracy. I have a handful of good men working for me in the city. They will make sure the message gets through all too _**smoothly**_. I've also employed local woman under a false pretense to check in every now and again at their estate to make certain the children haven't severely maimed themselves throughout the time of wait, given the keeper I hired for the job isn't coherent enough to keep them from doing so. _Everything_, my good man, is in place."

Cochepaille could no longer stand upright. He set both hand's atop the predator's desk, lulled into a false sense of security by Gounod's now calmed, collected tone. His heart seemed to implode with every frantic beat. He dragged a trembling hand down his clean, kept accountant's face, trying to wipe away the expression of trepidation across it.

"I could give you a laundry list of reasons why this is, for one: insane, and second: financially and legally dangerous. You're putting yourself, your name, your life on the slaughtering block. Am I expected to tell you that this is a plausible way to obtain money? Have you become this desperate?"

Gounod finished the letter. It was a mere paragraph long but he smiled down at it the way a novelist looks down upon his completed work of 5,000 page literary brilliance.

His voice was harsher than ever when he addressed his associate once again, "You are so willing to save me from a fate which you would be so willing to tell me I deserve if you had the spine to do so. You _**fear**_ Cochepaille. I am here to put your fears to rest. Don't look at me that way. Don't speak either, you sophomoric lummox. I know what you would tell me. You would spit in my face saying that I do not deserve to destroy my life again, that I am a fool for even concocting such an idea as this, even when I know I can get away with it. And you would be correct monsieur. You fear believing that I deserve it when you know I do not. But as I've already told you, I am here to put your fears to rest."

Cochepaille let his expression fall blank. It was the safest thing he could do in the heat of the moment.

"You needn't worry about my fate, monsieur, for it will not be my name on this very letter to the de Change's," Gonoud breathed deeply and retrieved one of the broken tin figures that had sparred with the rock solid floor and lost. His other hand pushed the small leaf of paper upon which he had written his paragraph across the desk and into the light where his mute associate could read every sickening figure of script.

"It will be yours."

The pen was shoved before him then. It was the final, blatant order. The weight of the world was reduced to that of a small, black ink pen.

Cochepaille stepped back from the desk urgently. His face twisted in a combination revulsion and outrage, almost as if he couldn't believe him. He suddenly looked looked upon the man before him no better than one would look upon a bit mold clinging onto a loaf of bread. Hatred born of fright seethed through him and fiery disgust coursed along with it. He was willing, in a split instant, to strangle his oppressor with his bare hands- even after he meant to try to redeem him. M. Montagnue, you see, for all of his intelligence, was _blind_.

Not only was he blind: he was _afraid_...ready to run. He could feel the distance between the office door behind him and where he stood. He was calculating, in the face of the predator, his chances.

But when Gounod stirred in his seat, adjusting himself so that one arm was hidden leisurely beneath the desk, every thought of escape erased instinctively from his mind.

"You know very well why making another move, _especially_ for that door, is not a very wise decision at present, M. Montagnue."

The sweat streaming down every terrified inch of Cochepaille's skin seemed to freeze in that moment of temptation to flee. His lungs felt as if they would collapse with the sheer force of the breaths they were bearing. He took another step back, unable to do anything else but obey his body's impulse.

Gonoud squinted. His hidden arm adjusted again. He nodded down to the pen and paper. They were ready for Cochepaille's signature. Two words on a page would seal fate and throw a life away.

"Now you've done it," laughed a dark figure from one of the room's hidden corners, admiring one of the knives he had retrieved from his coat pocket in the slender light as he sauntered out into the open. No one saw him come in; he was as seamless as a ghost.

The figure returned his glistening weapon to its proper place when he knew he had gotten their attention.

"Bresseu!" shouted M. Gounod, jerking his head to face the sickly looking fiend of a man that came to stand at attention at his side, like a mange-ridden dog to its beloved master. "I've written the date you are to deliver this to the post. Not a day sooner, not a day later...or you'll answer to _me_, and then to my dogs. There is a good span of time between now and your delivery. Should anything happen to that particular letter, _no_, it cannot be replaced and, _yes_, any losses will be on your neck. Now, have I made myself clear?"

"Quite," assured the man called Brusseu with a sly grin in the face of danger. He knew that his competency could not be matched. No one was more careful when it came to filthy affairs; Gounod knew this well. There was no one he trusted more.

While Gounod's attention was slightly diverted, Cochepaille stole the moment to reach out like a gazelle over a crocodile infested watering hole to scribble out those binding words with a hand that could hardly hold up the pen itself. By the time the tyrant's blazing eyes wrenched back to him it had been finished. It had _all_ been finished. He was still shaking profusely- still wanting more than anything to run from that sickening place, even after the necessary deed was done.

In his mind there was nothing worth protecting anymore. He would escape this hell, this man, with what he could salvage. He would promise anything for escape...

Gounod snatched up the letter greedily, nodding and grinning like a smug demon as the signature was confirmed. He placed a false initial at the bottom of the page to certify that it had been dictated then slipped it cozily into its envelope. It was finished.

"There...you have your letter," Cochepaille spat as every part of him screamed out cowardly surrender, "After those six long year's you've finally found a use for me. I hope it brings you everything you _**deserve**_, monsieur."

Stroking the edge of the envelope, Gounod could only smile. It was a hearty smile, the very one he had put on for his dear old friend the Vicomte and his darling children days before. It was the kind of smile one would give someone close whom they have not seen for a long while. Laced with every ounce of sincerity and contentment with life as that sort of affectionate expression should be. He then handed the closed letter to Brusseu and without letting his cordial gaze stray from Cochepaille's corpse white face, waved his messenger toward the exit and to leave the two of them alone.

A few words escaped Cochepaille as the other hardened assistant slithered past him on his way out with the letter, "I understand the consequences if any information were to leak. Now may I go...now that I have served my final purpose?"

Brusseu, uninterested in anything more that went on behind his back, slammed the door after himself with the same decadent grace of a boulder piling down the side of the mountain. This abrupt crash of wood against frame nearly drowned out completely the final chilling protest of a man at the mercy of a Derringer's barrel and that wrenching explosion of gunshot at precisely the same moment.

Bullet met flesh on the other side of the office door. The man called Cochepaille would never thereafter be heard from again.


	14. Chapter 14: Affection, Rejection and

_**TQ-**_ A shorter chapter than usual here(well, as in chopped in half, not really all that short). You know what that means: the next one gets up sooner! /poorly utilized snarkage\I know you're all just hyperventilating with excitement/poorly utilized snarkage\... but I am rather anticipating #15. Horsie + Erik equals happy authoress.

Since I've been supervising the training of one of the boarders at the facility where I work- my very first greenbreaking out from under my boss's wing- I've been having this ungodly urge to write about equines and... I think I'm done rambling now...Yep, that's about it.

* * *

Ch. 14: Affection, Rejection and Criminally Tight Pants

* * *

The remainder of the first week passed over the estate with the same ease as a house-cat being dragged toward a drawn bath, its nails embedded firmly in the wall.

Somehow, when the eve of each day encroached on the chaos brought forth by the two little girls all was made well again, whether be it with buckets or rags or needles or thread or brooms or tweezers or nails or soap. There was always something in need of soap. By the same turn, there was always something falling, something breaking, something shattering, exploding, imploding, spilling, splitting, shredding, squealing, squalling or screaming(though silence was always, _always_ worse). And yet somehow, by some miracle, the mansion remained intact to face another morning with a most constipated smile.

Our poor, steadfast angel found himself doused in an exhaustion greater than any he had ever experienced in his sorry lifetime. He welcomed the new day's light with a bellowing moan and stuffed himself deeper into the plump, lush pillows and down covers of the house's master and mistress's own bed.

Clutched tightly to his bare chest was a perfect half of a wedding picture, extracted from its frame and torn down the center. Along the photograph's jagged edge the delicate countenance of a woman smiled back. Her joyful expression seemed to radiate the sheer essence of the occasion, but at the center of all this prim beauty something reflecting back from those deep brown windows to the soul cast a different emotion. Perhaps fear. Perhaps only nervousness. One could almost detect a sense of regret in her eyes if it were to be taken for more than face value.

Through his own stiffening lethargy, Erik found room to grin salaciously through the linens, twisting and turning until he and the fragile paper were wrapped snugly together in melodramatic bliss. A sigh escaped him as he held the precious image even closer and buried his face even deeper into the pillow upon which rested the consummate figure of his beloved many a recent night. The very thought of being so near Christine made him swoon at every inhale like a stricken young idiot to the perfume adorning some coy maiden's love-note.

If he had his senses he would have wondered if his new reincarnation had made him rather _soft_ and vulnerable to such ridiculous feelings. But while completely intoxicated there was no use thinking about it. All that was to be done was to savor and wish the moment, so vividly real, would never flee.

As his incoherent murmurs to the lifeless picture began forming into soft, tender vespers of an admittedly pathetic sort of love, two heads emerged to peek over the foot of the bed. Being of the most curious classification of little girls they took it upon themselves to stay unnoticed for as long as they could possibly stand.

"Ohhh my _angel_," he gushed softly through rapture, kissing the now well-wrinkled photograph, eyes sealed shut. Not even the weight of two bodies crawling over him could break such a consuming fantasy.

Soisette nudged her guardian over and over until she lost patience at getting his attention and jumped what must have been a foot above the mattress. She landed squarely into his side, making good use of what little jarring weight her frame carried. He doubled over immediately, nearly tossing Elyssa over the edge of the bed with his flailing. Soisette latched onto him even as he gasped to catch a breath, her delicate arms hardly long enough to reach around his chest. It always seemed that he was at his grumpiest in the mornings. The dear child only thought to cheer him up.

"G'morning Erik," she nuzzled into him sweetly. Unfortunately for her, the warm, fuzzy, maternal emotion she sought to spark fizzled out within him where it never even existed.

He mumbled furiously and felt instinctively around his face. His only thought was that the little cretins were lucky he fallen asleep with the mask still in place. But instead of shoving the child away as casually as usual, he tucked back into a fetal position beneath the comforter and simply ignored her affections. This particular course of action made Soisette all the more determined.

It wasn't long before the girls had successfully pulled away all of his wrappings, leaving him exposed to endure the painful tortures which inevitably await all those who dare to pretend to sleep while young children are wide awake and lingering over.

"What's that?" Elyssa reached for the paper he still clung to for dear life.

"Nothing!" he snapped, rolling quickly over onto his chest to hide it from her. His attention suddenly whipped around to Soisette who was now reaching over him for the same thing.

"If it's nothing then why are you hiding it?" she laughed, fighting back as he fought to keep her away.

"_**OFF!**_" shouted the angel. His sudden fed-up outburst sent Elyssa tumbling back but didn't faze the older child. He caught Soisette by the wrist who, in turn, found his terrible "morning snarl" most adorable. Try as she might she couldn't suppress a giggle.

"Well? May I ask what the hell is so hilarious?!" he spat, shaking her just a little to make a point of himself.

Soisette snorted back, "Your face!"

"What about it?!"

"It looks cute when you're mad," she cooed.

There was a long, stern pause. His eyes narrowed at the child.

"Back to bed, both of you!" ordered Erik, shooing them off like flies. Elyssa smothered a giggle upon noticing the faint pink blush over the left side of his face.

Soisette whined, "But it's so _late_. The sun has been up for _hours_. Can't we go play outside? Can't we? Can't we _please_?"

She tried to turn him back over to face her but succeeded only in making him shove his head beneath the pillow, being that there were no other means of hiding.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" the angel growled. Once again he found the half of the concealed wedding picture and gave another muffled sigh of sweet, enamored release.

Soisette began to grow irritated with his rejection. "Doing what?" she retained her whiny tone.

"_Nothing_!"

As one could imagine, that particular conversation was not meant to last.

Erik dragged himself up from the warm, plush tomb as slowly as possible to spare the blunt of the sharp aching that came from every inch of him. Impatient as ever, Soisette concluded that he had plenty of time already to recover from sleep and so abruptly assisted his waking up by shoving him from the mattress and onto his feet. Just as the angel got his bearings and stood firmly upright the child leapt onto his back, latching on with throttling grip about his neck.

The two of them came terribly close to meeting the floor.

"Carry me down!" she squealed as he attempted to regain balance whilst being garroted about the throat by dainty little six-year-old arms. Elyssa had already affixed herself onto his left leg, feeling quite left out.

"Carry me too!" cried the younger. Her blubbers soon turned to tears and that high pitched bawling soon mixed with Soisette's sadistically gleeful laughter. This, consequently, was a combination which the irate spirit could not endure under any circumstance.

After threatening them both in a most dreadfully serious manner with the idea of sleeping in the garden shed the children slipped off of him easily. They were most disappointed but not deterred in the least, for they had other plans tucked away.

Elyssa ran to fetch one of her father's finest brocade shirts, a gold embroidered vest and what was possibly the most exquisite black velour waistcoat he had ever seen from the massive armoire in the corner of the bedroom. The girls demanded to dress him themselves and were justly appeased. There was no sense in arguing. They would surely find something else to pester him with, skilled as they were.

Only after a brief thought allotted to the indignity of their wish, he thought little of it after that- too exhausted to care, most likely- kneeling down to allow them to drape the rich fabrics over him like the dutiful servants of a sovereign. If the girls hadn't been so busy fitting him up as if he were an enormous doll they would have certainly caught the rarest fleeting expression of contentment in the angel's customarily less-than-enthusiastic mien. He certainly wouldn't let them see that he was somehow _enjoying_ such royal treatment.

At least that was what he considered it until they began to pull him about in all different directions with little thought as children do with playthings. A low grumble vibrated through him when one of the girls yanked on the sleeve of the fabric in an odd direction, but Erik did not protest further. Very much like a dog accepting the rough treatment of a new infant, he was reluctantly growing accustomed to the abuse the girls could dish out.

By nature a violent introvert; by experience possibly becoming something he had feared since he began this nonsensical mission: _charmed_.

As Soisette struggled with the vest's tiny ivory buttons- looking up every other moment or so to make sure their obedient subject was just as bored and quietly irritated with all of this fussing as was expected of him- Elyssa returned from another excursion in a nearby drawer with a cream colored silk cravat. It was a most beautiful piece of fabric on its own- that is, if something so simple can be described as such. Erik, without a revealing word, admired it immensely.

By some odd turn the child knew precisely the way to tie and tuck it. She drew the butter-smooth fabric around his neck, knotted it up just so, then let it spill neatly down in a luxurious crested wave into the open shirt.

He waved her off when she began to fret over the way it seemed off center with a simple "Thank you child." His tone remained gruff, even insensitive, but Elyssa took this small inkling of praise to heart.

A kind word felt odd coming from this poor creature who seemed only ever to berate, criticize or disparage on a constant basis. Even to an innocent child Erik gave the impression of being in a perpetual wallow of both self hatred and hatred of just about everything else. Still, she somehow saw through to some dim flicker of light within him and curtsied shyly in reply.

Sensing this threat to the attention she craved for herself, Soisette was swallowed up by jealousy. She snatched up a pair of light fawn riding pants that had been neatly folded and lain out on the arm of a nearby chair.

"_I_ get put on his breeches," she sneered at her sister and tugged at the hem of his nightpants.

"_**I**_ don't think so," Erik corrected her briskly. Disappointed, she handed them over onto the awaiting crook of his arm before shrinking back into a pout.

He had to be careful not to laugh at her seemingly innocent suggestion. Maintaining that certain aloofness was key.

Erik rose immediately to his feet, ran his hands quickly over the rich, velvet sleeves of the waistcoat which he found himself so helpless to resist, then herded both girls out into the hall. The door was latched firmly behind them.

Once well enough alone, a singular idea came to his still partially-awake mind in the form of a long black leather riding crop leaning into the far corner of the room. A polished pair of hunt boots- their shapely, elegant shadows fallen far across the floor in the morning rays- rested near the open balcony door. The fresh air brought in with the the

There was no escaping it. It was high time that he saw to that magnificent creature left to waist away in the stables.

"The very thought of it," the angel scoffed lightly to himself, all the while his proud gaze roamed over the exquisitely dressed upper half of himself.

With timid finesse he finally stepped into the lambskin embellished riding breeches...only to find them dangerously near skin tight. It took a great deal of effort to get them on. A _great_ deal. A great fifteen minutes worth of pulling and cursing and sucking in and rolling and flopping about- generally defying the laws of force or physics or something of the sort to try to fit into them. From outside the bedroom door his epic battle against the offending pants sounded quite the way one would imagine an elephant putting on pantyhose.

Apparently Raoul was not quite as thick about the lower quarters.

Once fully dressed he would take out with him only the boots. The crop was left behind. He didn't need it and was going to be oh so outwardly smug about this.

* * *

_I burst open the stable doors with a little more than the recommended dosage of resolve and adrenaline coursing wildly through my ectoplasmic being(which may or may not have had something to do with the infelicitous way those breeches were squeezing me at the present point in time...) There I confronted those long faces sticking out of their confinements once again, this time with the demeanor of a hot-blooded general ready to confront his war steed. An Alexander in search of his Bucephalus._

_For some reason the children weren't nearly as intoxicated by thrill as I was for some reason or another. Not feeling the brush of wind, the kiss of sunlight, the particles of thrown up dust through the nostrils for many a dark, cramped year may have had something to do with it. Still, I took into consideration that they had no idea what they were in for._

_Elyssa and Soisette accompanied me through the row of stalls, a bit apprehensive of the fiery way I was carrying myself- chest over-inflated and head held high as if I thought myself the king of England._

_It felt like veritable ages since I had ridden. As a boy I had whisked away countless mounts right out from underneath their masters' noses. I could remember distinctly flying over miles of open wilderness bareback in order to escape pursuers. In order to survive. Out in that hell of a world such an ability meant the difference between life and death- no matter how unappealing either may have seemed- oftentimes, you see. As naturally as one learns to walk I took to horsemanship early and with such skill that it seemed to the very few who witnessed this strange talent of mine-one of the many- that I used some sort of witchcraft to control the beasts. Using only the sound of my voice I could turn an animal on its heels with hairsplitting accuracy; I found I could even defy the horse's biological instinct to flee in the face of danger. With a single command my mount would turn and assault any oncoming attacker as if it were possessed. It was a magic trick beyond common comprehension. It was true "one-ness" with the horse and I wondered more than anything whether I still kept the ability. _

_I had a feeling if I didn't that this little venture would turn out badly. That is, if not very badly. And if not very badly...well... at least I was already dead._

_As we approached the third stall in the row the girls immediately shrunk back and gave a sharp scream at the startling sound of hooves against wooden frame and a large, flailing black head from the opening above the door. The Count was, apparently, not in the best of moods being confronted with annoying children at such an early hour. I could relate._

_In one swift motion, before anyone could open their impertinent mouths to protest, I unlatched the wide stall door and felt the whimpering little cowards both flinch from where hid behind me as it swung slowly open. From the terrified look on their faces they must have thought me completely out my mind. He could have broken loose at any second...but as soon as the horse tore his attention away from the girls and up to my steady gaze his raging suddenly ceased._

_In the blink of an eye The Count became perfectly still, perfectly calm with ears drawn up and alert. __Curious__._

_The sisters gasped in disbelief-as if they had completely forgotten the way he yielded to me just days before- when it only took the beckoning wave of my hand to draw the beast out of its lair. The stallion watched me intently though still twitched all over. He seemed nervous out in the open. It was apparent to me that he had probably never had this sort of freedom before to tear off in any direction without restraint and the realization was mind-blowing. Mind-blowing enough to paralyze him._

_The horse and I locked gazes, exchanging those all-too-important silent vows of trust before any action could be made, for a generous while. He quivered, still unsure what to do with himself. I was determined to force him into looking to me alone for the guidance he so desperately sought in this strange situation. My assistants kept silently- __**wisely**__-__ to themselves._

_Then it was Soisette, growing braver by the second seeing that this demon of an animal had been safely sedated by my 'magical angel powers', who finally spoke out softly from behind,"What are you doing? Aren't y-y-you going to tie him up? You said you'd prove you c-could ride The Count...well... Aren't you going to saddle him?" _

_There was only one reply in the world I could find adequate enough to fit such a ridiculous question:_

"_Saddles, my dear child," snapped I coarsely, patting the previously enraged animal on the neck, "are for fops."_

_And in my criminally tight pants, pretty gold embroidered vest and fancy fitted waistcoat I couldn't have been more oh so outwardly smug about it._


	15. Chapter 15: Shall We Dance?

_**TQ-**_ A little insight thrown in for you toward the end of this one- if I may.

A million valid life points to anyone who can guess which world famous 27-year-old Californian baritone Erik is based on in all of my stories... It does account for a thing or two in this chapter.

As usual, reviewers get very special -glomps- by me. Let me know what you think: it's much easier and less tormentous than filling out a comprehensive survey!

* * *

_**Chapter 15: Shall We Dance?**_

* * *

_Perched atop their little white mounts, each with reins in hand and the dainty skirts of their frocks draped over one side, the children could only gawk as they followed my lead in awestricken silence. The Count had to be a full sixteen hands of solid muscle and sinew. This combined with sound legs, massive head and neck, unpredictable hooves and teeth which could tear flesh from bone in but a single swift movement made for a walking death sentence one could, in far-fetched theory, attempt to ride. Before, this beast seemed only capable of unharnessed rage, though he was as beautiful as he was dangerous. _

_To watch him follow me step by step like a faithful hound at its master's feet through an open, fenceless field without a single command, rope or restriction was beyond bizarre for these girls who had witnessed only conformity to normalcy throughout their lives. Certainly any sensible trainer worth his pay wouldn't dream of even considering to **try** such a thing. It wasn't plausible. Well, my dear reader, I am conceited enough to say that the implausible is my specialty. _

_Every inch of this animal shuddered as he went along. I did not turn to watch him but could feel that huge, masterfully sculpted head and muzzle mere inches behind. My simple presence seemed to be a shock to his system. This horse was sensitive underneath his exterior, a promising quality, and apparently pliable. If our session shaped up properly this would work out better than I thought. _

_Perhaps, I thought, there was more that could be done with him than just to ride. He was far too willing, even out from under my hand, to be underestimated. What I had in mind would test his intelligence and strain his newly acquired trust to the brink. The **very** brink._

"_Come along!" I urged the girls as they lagged, unlatching the gate to the paddock. The Count kept close to my side when we entered together and nearly pinned me clean against the whitewashed fence-post. I whistled sharply just once to remind him to keep his space. _

_In a split instant the horse shot out into the open paddock, tearing around and throwing himself in all different directions as if the single high pitched noise had unsettled something terrible within him. Lather soon began to glisten on his coat of flawless ebony and a foam flew from the corners of his mouth when he began to swing his head in wild, disturbing motions._

_I shook my own head piteously as I leaned on the still opened gate, waiting for the girls to hurry their ponies along and for the stallion to become quite finished with his temper tantrum._

_Soon both children joined me, with a fair amount of convincing, inside the paddock. The two miniature nags looked as nervous as they did to be in the same vicinity as the flailing ball of pent up aggression piling from one side of the little field to the other at a breakneck gallop._

_Before Soisette and Elyssa could dismount I instructed them to stay in their saddles. _

"_If I'm going to waste time breaking an already flawless specimen then I should like to make something useful out of this...a lesson."_

_It was such an outright bluff. I was loving every minute of this._

"_Flawless?" Soisette wrinkled her nose. "He looks like he's trying to tear himself apart."_

"_Just watch and try to follow along. I think you'll catch on to what I mean...Consider this a schooling session in the traditional 'haute école' style of riding."_

_Again I halted the creature in his paces, stepping boldly into the center of the paddock to stop him on his heels and lock gazes once again, clearing his mind from the fear and distrust he was unleashing through whatever sort of attack had a hold of him. When The Count stood before me it was with his legs in a perfect square as if someone had glued him evenly to the ground. Hostility melted from his posture and the fire fled from his eyes. Within moments this raging beast was as docile as a newborn lamb. Not even the anxious scuffling about of the girls' ponies phased his focused state of mind. I had him in a trance. Perfect._

_Soisette kept her distance from us and so felt the need to shout, "When are you going to-?"_

_I shot up a stern hand in her direction, ordering silence without even turning my attention from my subject. His ears had flattened the moment her shrill voice reached him. The tremble returned to his ankles and front fetlocks as if his own weight were too great a load to carry._

_While soothing him with the sound of my voice, I reached out slowly from my waistcoat pocket with a fresh cut of apple in hand. This method of attraction seemed to work well enough. Inch by inch The Count drew nearer, ignoring every other noise or action that surrounded us. The promise of that sweet, succulent fruit filled up the total capacity of what his simplistic animal senses could register at once. _

_He finally approached close enough to reach out to me. The moment he made a grab for it I snatched the slice away and popped it into my own mouth. The animal, if you'll take my word for this, looked positively indignant._

"_You haven't done anything for me yet...nothing you're capable of," I challenged him both vocally and through dominant expression and posture. This was a creature who was not used to being challenged. I could tell._

_He threw back his head, upset that he had not received what was due to him. Piqued nostrils flared and snorted. Dirt flew up when he pawed the earth before me. Throughout his loud protest I remained unmoved._

"_Are you quite finished?" I spoke to him bluntly this time. The Count stopped instantly, giving me leave to move closer. He apparently realized that he had come to face an immovable force. He had come face to face with the idea that everything was under my control, even the power to reward. Everything that he was in that instant in time was mine to manipulate any way I chose._

_Finally I was able to reach out and stroke the hide of his neck. _

_The girls' flinching could be sensed from several yards away when in the terrifying blink of an eye I swung up without warning onto the stallion's back. Elyssa let out a startled shriek. I had, apparently, lost my mind._

_Without saddle nor bridle nor rein nor bit I rode out the initial shock that was leaping onto an untrained, thousand pound animal accustomed to trying to turn even the most skilled riders in the territory into runny piles of discolored pâté against the ground. I held fast around his barreled chest, gripping the mane at the base of the neck as he threw us both into a dizzying bout of rearing and kicking and general symptoms of fright. Nothing at all that severe by my standards. A seven-year-old with a little ambition could have sat it. What I found most surprising was how long it took him to return to normal..._

_An ungodly twenty-or-so seconds._

_I thanked Providence for the sheep's hide sewn into those breeches, slicked back the tousled dark wisps of hair from my face and simply felt the rise and fall of the horse's labored breathing beneath me. I hadn't even broken a sweat myself(that is considering whatever inhuman beings tend to exude after exertion is, in fact, sweat). The Count peeked over his shoulder, utterly confounded why this fool spirit was still sitting on him after that display._

"_Disappointing," I tsked painfully, letting go of his mane to tend a few 'personal' problems which are inevitable after being tossed about bareback . "I halfway expected more of a show from the 'fierce' likes of you. Hmph! 'Untamable beast' my aching...-"_

_My heels did the rest of the talking for me. Onward forth we went, rounding the edge of the paddock in a graceless stride I was almost ashamed to be going at. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the girls. The tips of Elyssa's nervous white-gloved fingers were pressed against her bottom lip. Soisette, thoroughly comfortable with the distance now placed between them and The Count, clapped in mock elegance out of one palm. Her pony fed insouciantly on the turf at its feet until my mount and I approached in a zealous canter. The stocky thing nearly spooked, though the girls looked prone to any second even more-so._

"_Would either of you ladies like to make a bet?" I raised and eyebrow down at them. The Count shuffled his feet and fought a bit when I tried to keep him in place. _

"_D'pends," Soisette checked my arrogant tone saucily. But when the great black stallion gave an unexpected kick of the hind leg she gasped and stiffened, losing her confidence and nearly her seat on the sidesaddle._

"_An entire afternoon **and** evening to myself...if I can make this brute **dance**," I laughed heartily, letting The Count spin me around on his heels._

_Soisette crossed her arms, cast me a stiffened glance knowing she couldn't resist this sort of challenge and stated her terms plainly, "And if you don't...you have to take off that mask."_

_'The devil!' I thought to myself, 'So that's what she's after.' I shuddered to think, if only in brief, what else the thankfully absent Cherise had meant by the child's nature being "in the blood"._

"_A bet it is then!" boasted I. We shook hands uneasily from atop our mounts before I urged The Count on again with the knob spurs adorning my boots. "Follow me three lengths behind. Let's see what this poseur can do, shall we?"_

_With a firmer tap of the heels the stallion sprung into a trot the second I willed him. From here I would build my spectacle. _

* * *

It would be against I higher order to reveal to you, dear reader, the precise explanation for what the de Chagny children beheld before their very eyes in that very plain paddock on that very plain morning. One can be certain that it was one they would not soon forget.

Erik himself was not at all sure of how he accomplished winning their bet in such a supernatural display. But that he did and with all the skill, stamina and grace of a seasoned riding master.

With only the hair of the stallion's mane gripped between firm, gloved hands he sent them into well timed trot, urging back with his upper body while his heels signaled forward. The result was nothing short of incredible.

The Count, who had never before so much as allowed a man to sit him for less than twelve seconds, started into a flawless _passage_. Knees reached up to the chest and into the body at the hind end in a display of cadence the world's most skilled ballet dancers would have coveted; the neck arched to resemble that of a war steed's, the muscles toned and taught into folded, structured beauty along with the rest of his form. Every animated high step seemed to reach higher and higher as if the horse were preparing himself to spring into flight at any given moment. This was a maneuver which took veritable _years_ for an animal to master with such fluid accuracy.

And this was only the beginning.

They slowed from the passage's lilting pace to a near halt. Erik gave a swift tug at the right side of the mane's part in his grasp and as if by magic the horse thrust out his front right leg instantly upon command. And then the other. And then the right again. It was a maneuver commonly seen in the bullfighting arena, used by matadors to taunt the enraged bull while on horseback. Without any other visible prompting The Count reached further out with each hoof and pawed the air before him. He came down every time stiff-legged, crossing each lengthened stride with the other which gave the impression that the horse was doing a sort of intricate Tango with himself.

Soisette and Elyssa squealed with delight. They had never imagined such a thing could be done and were right to be awed by the performance, for never before in the world had a horse learned to dance so quickly. The pair tried in vain to have their own mounts follow the example. Of course the ponies only jerked to a halt after such fierce prodding and took to feeding in the grass, much to the sisters' frustration.

Then, in a sudden jolt of power The Count and his handler sprung forth with every ounce of strength above the ground. When at the climax of the most dramatic leap which could ever be mustered, the steed kicked back with his hind quarters, as if he were trying to separate himself in half, before returning to the earth. They both met the ground startled by the feat they had just accomplished. It was over before the eyes, the pulse, the _soul_ could register what had occurred. Not only had they danced...they had _flown_.

Soisette and Elyssa were breathless.

Now with blood coursing rapidly,The Count cuffed the far corner of the paddock to return to the center. Once there he did not stop to rest as expected but split off into yet another direction, carrying his rider into a series of unbelievable fluid spins in mid stride. Hoof crossed hoof in a side-winding movement from here to there and back again. The hind legs seemed to have wills of their own from that of the fronts' for as The Count's upper end carried on in one direction at a steadied high-kicking gait his back end traveled in astonishing shuffles, kicks and bounds.

Gathering again at full speed, the two ran twin figure eights before performing yet another heart-wrenching bound into the air. The children swore silently to themselves that this was no ordinary beast. What strutted with his tail high like a banner of victory and kissed the sky with the entirety of himself before them was a Pegasus flown freshly out of an ancient book of myth.

The Count tossed his head and whinnied, throwing out the powerful sound of himself into the air when he reared back to dance on his hind legs. Erik clung to his back as naturally as if he had been sewn into the very fibers of this animal's being, one with that flesh and bone and muscle and sinew. Together they were a different type of animal...apparently the type who could spring up and forth on its hooves five consecutive times, balancing over a thousand pounds of weight onto two relatively thin ankles as the impossible weight bared down in all its tremendous force and might. All of this while poised at an impeccable ninety degree angle, the glistening black tail flowing out from behind in the wild, steady breeze.

Never in the history of mankind could there have been crafted by the human hand a lasting image as full of rein-less majesty as this. For two little girls the sight of their guardian's half-concealed visage wrought with such sheer commanding power was all the excuse they needed to well up with tears in their innocent young eyes. They trembled from the outside in though they could not fully able comprehend what had shaken them so immensely nor what profound emotion what they beheld there had instilled.

This vision would be ingrained with them for the rest of their natural lives.

Then the living moment was lost forever in the blink of an eye. The creature combined of mortal and immortal returned its front half to the lowly earth which seemed now too imperfect a place for a being of such magnitude, grace and blinding essence of nobility.

Erik slipped off of the animal's back only to meet the earth in a wilted pile. His legs gave out beneath him. Every ounce of his energy had been conducted into The Count who, after the girls had sufficiently helped their dear, striking angel to his feet, was noticed to be grazing the lush forage in tranquil silence alongside the two ponies. Every inch of him was peace personified. Peace in its most beautiful form.

And so the lion settled down with the lambs. All fury and hatred and spite which burned within him had been released in that final display of fire and grit. He was at long last content with himself. With himself and the with world which turned 'round about him.


End file.
